


Inheritance

by CertainlyHeisenberg, SonicoSenpai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, M/M, Master Dean Winchester, Non-related Sam and Dean, Slave Sam Winchester, Spanking, Wincest - Freeform, belt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CertainlyHeisenberg/pseuds/CertainlyHeisenberg, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonicoSenpai/pseuds/SonicoSenpai
Summary: A small word about me.  I try to answer comments after I post.  The chapters will come out quicker if I do :)Just a thing...





	1. Chapter 1

  
Sioux Falls, SD  
  
  
On one of those dog days of summer, you know the ones, the kind of day you just stay in the shade and try to avoid the heat, two men relaxed on a porch of an old Victorian farmhouse, off an old dirt road, in the back country of Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  A slight wind kicked up swirls of dust that chased each other around the dusty yard.  The ground was just begging for a good rain.   
  
Dean Winchester swung his legs idly on the ancient porch swing, trying to relax but could never really get there.  His feet always kicked or bounced.  Now, he played with his beer bottle, peeling the label into ribbons.  His uncle, well, the man Dean called Uncle, faired far better in his efforts to relax.  The older man sank deep into a rocking chair, watching the birds fly in and out of the old trash pile at the far end of the lot where food scraps went.    
  
Bobby Singer owned and operated a large and marginally successful scrapyard and repair shop.   His surrogate son came to his lot to find himself after he lost his father in a car accident.  Dean had been with Bobby going on two years now.  The two had found a comfortable rhythm and currently were in the process of enjoying a job well done.   
  
The hunt the night before had been a difficult one.  A particularly malicious and difficult spirit haunted the quaint house of a family of six.  It took Bobby and Dean a string of curse words, fifteen bruises, the acceptable loss of a giant teddy bear and a broken ax to coax the spirit enough to let them out of the house.  After that, the salt and burn were easy.  The former lover of the former owner.   
  
As Dean opened his mouth to make a lunch suggestion, an increasingly loud rumble entered lot.   
  
Bobby rolled his head and his eyes.  “You put sign up, right, boy?”  
  
“Can you stop calling me that?  And hell yeah, I did!  I love a day off… Someone must be just ignoring it…”  
  
Just then, a familiar green Ford Ranger pulled in next to the house.  Caleb.  Dean eyed the truck with interest.  A smile crept on to his face.  He had not seen Caleb in so long!  Then Dean noticed something odd.   In the back of the pickup truck sat a large grey plastic animal crate with a small grated window all the way around.  The thing was massive.  Had to be five feet by three feet?  The thing looked like it was intended for a large animal.  Dean scratched his head wondering if his dad’s friend had finally caught a hellhound.  That’d be _so_ cool.   
  
The truck came to a halt.  The driver hesitant to leave the cab, his hands wrapping around the wheel as he stared off into the piles of metal and scrap.   
  
Dean and Bobby got up from their seats to mosey out to meet the family friend.     
  
“Whattcha got there?” Dean called out as Caleb opened his door slowly.   
  
Caleb got out of the cab, shaking his head looking down at the dusty lot.   
  
“I know you ain’t gonna like this, Dean,” the older man warned.  
  
Dean smiled, pulling up his cheeks, opening his arms to hug the man.   
  
Caleb returned the hug stiffly.  
  
Caleb started in before he even explained the situation.  “Dean, really, I’ve done the best I can.  I just can’t keep up with him anymore…  Andrea wants to get married and she stated point blank, he’s not invited….”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?  How long you been driving, anyway?  You wanna come inside and have a cup a Joe?” Bobby piped in, looking around.  “You can leave whatever you got there… Wait.  What do you got there?”  
  
“That’s why I’m here.  John gave him to me four years ago.  Damn thing’s been nothing but a pain in my ass.  I can’t do anymore.  Hell, Andrea’s withholding everything, Bobby! She wants him gone,” Caleb whined.   
  
“I repeat.  What do you have in that crate, Caleb?” Bobby asked more slowly.   
  
“John’s slave, Bobby.  John found him and couldn't get rid of him because he’s got some demon in him.  Can’t be let back to the general population.  I mean, he’s mostly human?  Can’t put him down.  But Dean.  I told your daddy I’d help, but I just can’t tame the damn thing.  I mean, kind of he’s manageable... doesn’t talk much though…”  
  
Dean shook his head and walked up to the porch, grabbing a wrench in one hand, holding his beer in the other.  Dean climbed up into the flatbed and poked the cage.  The cage was enormous, as he got closer to it.  Through the bars of the cage, he caught a glimpse of some fierce green eyes.  Whatever was inside was big.   
  
“That's not a monster.  You got a fucking person in here!” Dean said showing teeth.  
  
“I said I have a slave, Dean… Well, _you_ have a slave.  I’m dropping him off.”  
  
“Dude.  I do not own people for a reason.  Slavery is plain fucking wrong and I barely keep myself alive!  You can’t leave that thing here!”  
  
“Dean, you gotta understand my situation…  Your dad bought him.  Technically… he’s yours.”  
  
“Caleb,” Dean said on a low note.  
  
“Here are his papers,” Caleb said digging a little in the cab, “I can help you get the collars and the system set up.   He really needs to be locked down when you’re not around.”  
  
“Whoa!  What?” Dean asked confused and starting to get anxious.   
  
“I’ll explain everything.  First, we gotta get Sam here some water."  
  
“Why the hell did you drive cross country with a boy in the back of this pickup, Caleb?” Bobby asked wide-eyed and disgusted.  
  
“Heh, heh,” Caleb shook his head with a knowing glare, “Bobby, you have no idea.  Leave him alone too long?  Let your guard down?  He’ll try to kill you, escape or worse…”  
  
“Worse?” Dean asked now very worried.   
  
“Come on.  Let’s just get everyone more acquainted,” Caleb called out to the box, knocking on the cage from the ground.  He climbed up into the bed and spoke into the cage, “You going to be a good boy, Sammy?  You don’t want a spanking, do you?”  
  
The cage rattled.  Chains and detritus shaking in compliance.    
  
“He’ll be good.  You say that?  He knows what the hell it means.”  
  
“This is some kinky shit, Caleb…” Dean chuckled shifting a little.   
  
“Dean, I’ll explain!” Caleb patience wore thin.  
  
“Fine.  Fine.  He drink?” Dean asked pulling a swig from his beer bottle.   
  
“Don’t recommend it,” Caleb climbed in the back of the truck, motioning for Dean to get down.  He uncoiled a leash attached to the side of the kennel.  He opened the door slowly, fussing with some keys as the chains rattled. “Come on. Come on, Sammy…” Caleb coaxed. Caleb reached in, clicking the leash.  He pulled and a very tall, very dirty and sweaty man emerged slowly.  He kept his eyes and head down.   The man was red-faced and his posture pulled in.   
  
Dean noticed the thick black collar that circled the slave’s neck.  “You are going to leave that HERE?”  Dean asked.    
  
Bobby just watched, rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
“Dean.  We cannot sell him.  He’s part Goddamn demon!  I am not putting down a human being.  And Dean?  Your Daddy left this sonofabitch to you.  You take care of him.  I am done.  Four years is enough for me.”  
  
Dean’s mouth stayed open as he watched as Caleb guided the man inside Bobby’s house.  The slave moved gracefully, seeming to do everything in even motion. The man was skinny and tall.  His shaggy brown hair fell into his face, as much to hide, as it was to mask expression.  The man's scraggly beard looked be overgrown.  He looked rough.  On his sleek frame, he wore a thread bare t-shirt with mesh shorts.  He kept his head down and did not appear to be concerned with any of the new faces.   
  
Bobby showed the visitors to the kitchen.  The dated kitchen looked from the late forties early fifties,  mint green cabinets and soft grey Formica countertops in fair condition graced the brightly lit kitchen.  Bobby pointed to the table.  Caleb obliged him with an uncertain smile.   Sam found a place to kneel by the door. Bobby handed Caleb a beer and he cracked it happily, ruffling his own short hair dusty blond hair with his hands.   
  
“The boy’s got a shock collar on.  There’s a remote, but be careful.  He tries to wear down the battery by getting just at the border.  The thing’ll hum low and he’ll just take the pain.  Check under his collar every night.  You’ll see slight burn marks on his neck if he’s been doing it.  I swear to God!  If I have to take this piece of shit out to the woodshed one more time, I am going to fucking kill him,” Caleb said slumping his shoulders.  
  
The slave pulled a sneer.  Looking over his new masters behind his chin-length straggly brown hair, his shoulders hunched.  
  
“What are you talking about?  You saying what I think you’re saying?” Dean asked his green eyes too wide.  
  
“He’s got a strap.  You gotta tan him if you want him to behave.  Look, I know!  But, he’s a fucking gremlin, and he is smart as a whip.  He’ll do great research.  But don’t leave your Amazon account up.  He fucking ordered all kinds of crazy shit and sent it to Andrea.  Because after killing monsters all night, it's so fucking fun to explain why you ordered your girlfriend a pink glitter strap-on…”  
  
Sam snickered as Caleb rolled his eyes.   
  
Dean and Bobby looked on unsure of what to say.  
  
“Watch him!  You like rocks in your boots?  You want superglue on your toilet seat?  You want to explain to your girlfriend why you have an Ashley Madison account?  I could go on ALL NIGHT.  If you whip him hard enough and you might get a quiet week or two.”  
  
Sam smiled darkly to himself, then quivered slightly, probably at the thought of a beating.    
  
“Caleb, I understand your predicament, but what the hell are we going to do with him?” Bobby asked growing more concerned.  
  
“I don’t know Bobby.  Just train him to do something.  I just can’t.” Dean huffed.   
  
“Do we have a choice?” Dean looked at Bobby who had not let his eyes off the kid.   
  
“Don’t think we do have much choice, kid.  If he’s yours, you go clean him up.  He’s gonna start to stink up the joint soon…”  
  
Bobby and Dean convinced Caleb to say a while.  Caleb set up Sam’s proximity collar.  Gave Dean more advice and some of the kid’s effects: bowl, strap, leash, extra shoes, some sort of nightshirt, and an extra set of clothes.  
  
Dean looked at the small stack of possessions.    
  
He spun the metal bowl on his finger.  “You giving him dog chow, Caleb?” he asked tilting his chin.  
  
Caleb just rolled his neck.  “No.  Put food in there.  Jesus, Dean.”  
  
Bobby handed Caleb another beer.  Caleb sat down an avocado green easy chair in the living room, snapping his fingers and pointing to the floor.  Sam knelt beside him, his chin flush to his chest.  Caleb began to pet the man’s sweaty brown hair.   
  
“Sooo… he is a dog.  This is all getting very kinky…” Dean said with a laugh.  
  
Sam shot a glare at that.  _Asshole_ , the kid said with his eyes.  Dean looked away uncomfortably.    
  
“Do you read the internet?  Human contact.  Everyone needs it, Dick.  This is all I am comfortable with.  I also take him to the massage parlor.  They strap him down and do this thing?  He comes back happier….” Caleb said as he grasped the boy’s shoulder.   
  
Dean looked the man over as the young man relaxed into Caleb’s hands.  He did seem to enjoy it.  A chill flew threw his body as he watched them.  _Watch it, Winchester…._  
  
“Well, this has been real.  Be a good boy, Sammy.  Dean’ll get you good if you’re not.  Bobby.  Really, I’m sorry.  I just… I have a chance to get out, man.”  
  
Bobby rubbed his eyes, “You are a fucking asshole, but I understand.  Might want to keep that phone on you.  Dean and I are gonna have questions…”   
  
“My advice is not to turn your back on the bastard.  Keep him with you or pen him up.  Remember the phrases.  He’s trained… somewhat.  He’s misbehaving?  Say, ‘Sammy? You don’t want a spanking, do you?’ I’ve never actually spanked him.  Just pull him outside and wale on him with that strap when he needs it.  He’ll keep life interesting….  I got a cot in the cab.  Have him sleep with you, least at first.  He sleeps better with someone else in the room.   That or you gotta make him sleep in that pen.  I had to do it when I was hunting.  But… he really hates it and he’ll get you back…  Sonofabitch.”  
  
Caleb said pressing a smile and grabbing the shaggy brown hair, pulling it coarsely from side to side.   
  
Caleb pulled himself slowly off his seat.  He looked at Sam, bending at the waist, and resting one hand on his knee.   With the other, he pulled Sam’s chin up with a knuckle, looking him in eye.     
  
“You’re gonna be okay, here, boy.  Dean and Bobby are good men.  But they’re hard.  They won’t let you get away with half the shit you pulled with me.  Capiche?”  
  
_Sam nodded pulling his head away and snarling a little.  He did not want his master to leave him in bum-fuck nowhere with two rednecks.  He knew Caleb.  This was humiliating._  
  
Caleb left, pausing briefly, looking Sam over.   
  
He gave him an upward nod and a sad smile.  He rubbed the top of his short hair, moving slowly out the door. 

   
  
Dean and Bobby took a few minutes to stare at the young man still kneeling and sniffling.   
  
“Dude, it’s okay.”  Dean crouched down to look the man in the eye.  “You want to take a shower?” Dean asked, handing the kid a water bottle.  Sam looked at the thing unsure what to do with it.  He shook his head, getting up, then handing Dean the bowl.  Dean looked at it, then tossed it on the coffee table, holding the bottle out.  
  
“You’re weird, Dude.  We eat and drink with plates and glasses here.  This shit is not going to fly here.  You are a human being.  Sorry Caleb didn’t understand that.  The shower is upstairs at the end of the hall.  You know how right?”  
  
Sam pulled his neck back, smirking a little.  He grabbed the water bottle and headed up the creaky staircase, beelining for the bathroom, shutting and locking the door quickly.   
  
Dean raised his eyebrows, opening another beer.  
  
“You sure that was a good idea?  Caleb said we needed to watch him…” Bobby said watching the stairs.  
  
“He’s a fucking human being, Bobby.  We gotta start treating him like one if we want him to act like one,” Dean said dismissively, taking a hard pull on his beer.  
  
“Famous last words.  At least he’s in your bathroom, not mine…” Bobby chuckled.  
  
“I’ll check on him after his shower.  Maybe we can show him how to inventory?  I fucking hate that shit.”  
  
“We have some work to do, Dean.  You wanna leash him outside when he’s cleaned up?”  
  
“Not you, too! He’s not going to need a leash,” Dean said, almost sure of himself.  After thirty minutes, Sam shuffled out of the bathroom in a towel.   
  
Dean started up the stairs, a little too fast after he heard the water turn off. Dean had set up Sam’s cot in his room, while the slave showered.  Bobby had said ‘Not on your life’ when Dean asked if he wanted the kid on his floor.  Bastard.  Bobby did have the bigger room.  
  
Dean also emptied a drawer and put the slave’s meager belonging neatly inside.  Dean looked the kid over.  His beard was shaggy and unkempt.  Dean shook his head, curling a finger for the slave to follow him into the bathroom.   
  
Dean looked around sighing with relief.  Nothing looked too out of place.    
  
“You need a shave, man…  Kneel here.  Jesus, you’re big…” Dean applied the shaving cream and shaved the giant man carefully.  Did not really trust him with a razor yet.  Probably should have thought of that before he gave the wild card free reign over the bathroom.  Dean took a soft towel and wiped off the hair and shaving cream from the slave’s face.  
  
After Dean finished, he gave the young man a smile.  “You’re a little baby faced kid.  Looks good.”  
  
Sam blushed, just a little.   
  
“Come on, you’ve got a set of clean clothes.  I’ll throw these in the washer and tomorrow we’ll go shopping.  You are painfully low on supplies.” Dean showed Sam their room.  He pointed out the melatonin, his new drawer, and cot.  
  
“You going to be okay while I take a shower?”  
  
Sam’s eyes widen and he shivered a little.  Kind of guilty looking.  Dean reasoned the kindness was new to him.  The slave nodded and pointed to the bed.   
  
“You tired?  Go ahead.  Be back in a few.  Shorter than you… Jeez, 30-minute shower, you hiding some lady parts, man?” Dean smiled easily.   
  
Sam scrunched his face, unimpressed.   
  
“Just teasing.  Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it…”  
  
With that, Dean walked into the shower. 

  
  
In five minutes, Dean shouted pissed as hell.   
  
“SONOFABITCH!”  
  
Sam smiled.   
  
“DID YOU PISS IN MY SHAMPOO?” Dean shouted from behind the door.  
  
_Sam giggled, relaxing into his cot.  This guy was going to be so easy…._  
  
Dean threw open the door and pulled on some boxers, a shirt and shorts.   
  
“You want a spanking, kid?” Sam looked back at the naked man and staring hard.   
  
“Get your ass outside asshole!”  Dean looked for the strap he put on the dresser.  Gone.  Great.  Perfect. 

Dean grabbed his belt and slapped it against his hand.   
  
Sam shifted his shoulders, his eyes narrow in spite.   
  
“DO YOU WANT A SPANKING, SAMMY?” Dean asked pointing toward the door.  
  
Sam rolled himself off the cot, head lowered, eyes watering.   
  
“MARCH, FUCKER!” Dean shouted. Pointing at the door again.   
  
Sam skipped down the stairs quickly, trying to stay a few feet away from Dean, not wanting a perfunctory smack.  
  
Dean out-paced him, pulling the door open.   
  
“The woodshed or the wall?” Dean asked blankly, tapping the belt on his leg.   Dean pointed to a shed and to the side of the house. Sam looked at the ground pointing to the wall.  
  
“Whatever.  Look at me.”  
  
Dean pulled the cord of Sam’s pants.  They pooled at his feet easily.   He tried not to stare, he was going to have to get this kid some boxers.  Whatever.  Easier for this, anyway.   
  
“Hands on the wall.  Take three steps back.”  
  
Sam stiffened but complied.  His long fingers long splayed against the peeling paint of the exterior of the old Victorian.   
  
Dean inhaled.  The kid looked skinny, but damn was he ripped.  How the hell did Caleb get this slave in such great shape?  
  
As Dean pulled the first strike, Bobby showed up shouting.  
  
“What in God’s name are you doing?”  
  
“He pissed in my shampoo!” Dean said as pulled back the belt and laid another welt.   Sam huffing and breathing fast.   
  
“Don’t beat him, Dean…” Bobby said slowly, squinting, “Your Daddy was a dick and you know it.  That’s no way to treat anyone, son.”  
  
“Don’t tell me what to do, Bobby.  I’m a grown man, he’s my damn slave and this motherfucker is getting a walloping because this shit?  Is never happening again!”  
  
He pulled back the belt and laid one right on the man’s sit spot.  Sam’s breath hitched and he let out a low cry.  “You wanna piss in my shit?  You understand now, I will use this.  I do not need a fucking strap the beat you, freak.  You play nice?  We’ll get along.   You fuck with me again?  I double it.”  
  
Dean managed to lay six more before he pulled a final strike.  This one the hardest.  Sam’s knees buckled.  Dean shook his head looking over the damage.  A series of welts reddened the perfect little rump.  Bottom twitching with the breeze.  His slave’s ass a light shade of crimson.  Maybe he went too far.  
  
“Pull ‘em and stay there.  I mean nose to the wall,” Dean said curtly.  “Don’t wanna do this again.  BE COOL.”


	2. Do you want a cookie?

_Sam shifted his feet as pain radiated in pulses from his ailing bottom. The young slave grit his teeth as he looked at the old wall of decaying slats and peeling paint. Out in the middle of fucking nowhere. With psychopathic hunters. Even if he did manage to escape, he had no idea where he was and with the collar functioning, the law’d pick him quickly anyway._

_He pulled his shoulders from left to right. Damn. Caleb had him in his pen for so long. It felt like days rattling back and forth in the back of that damnable cage. His whole body bruised and aching. Now what? He was going to be a beaten junkyard dog? Not on their life…_

 

After Dean finished beating the hell out of his new slave, Bobby grabbed him by the arm and pulled him bodily away from the man whose nose pressed flush to the house, probably inhaling lead paint.

“Dean. You want to explain _that_?” Bobby asked squinting hard, his posture stiffer, both hands pressing deep into his waist.

“No. No, I don’t. I tried being kind. I tried giving that kid some human fucking treatment. I got piss. In my shampoo…” Dean said, not wanting to look his Uncle in the eyes, staring off at rusting Chrysler La Baron.

“Oh. Really? That was human fucking kindness? Because all I saw was you treating that kid like a _dog_ who shat in the living room… And what are you talking about? Do you even know? What? You gave him a damn water bottle. You are going to have work much harder to get that kid civilized. Otherwise? Get ready for more piss and vinegar, because I’d fuck with you to after a beating like that!”

Dean’s shoulders slumped.

“Fine. I’ll work on it,” Dean said resigned.

“Now go be a good boy and apologize to your new friend, _you idjit!_ ”

 

Dean approached the slave who now stood shoulders and legs squared, nose still to the wall, grinding his teeth.

“Dude. I’m sorry. I lost it over there. You okay?” Dean asked gently.

The slave did not even move a muscle.

“Stop. You can come off the wall… Just stop.”

No response.

“Come on. I am working on this,” Dean pleaded.

No response.

Dean rubbed his sweaty hair. Damn it was hot.

“You gonna stand there all day? You want a sandwich? A fucking cookie?”

The slave huffed at that.

Dean smiled. “Maybe you do have a sense of humor. Come on. I’ll make you lunch. You can even eat it in your bowl if you want.”

Still. No response.

“You’re going to get hot, man. Gonna go get you some water. I’ll hang out with you if you want. Bobby’s out there working on an actual Gremlin. I know, weird, right? He’s got a buyer in California. Wants it for some fucking movie. Set to pay for necessities for a while… You want to see it?”

No response.

“Dude. You talk? Like at all?”

Like a brick wall.

“M’kay… Going to go to the kitchen to make Bobby some lunch. You get off that wall and stop sweating in this heat, I’ll make you one too.”  


Dean opened the kitchen door, heading straight to the fridge, pulling out all manner of sandwich supplies. Hoping one of the sandwiches their new behemoth friend would take a shine too.

After about five minutes, the kitchen door opened. Sam pulled up his chin, standing straight and tall, with an open expectant hand.

Dean stopped, staring at the kid for too long. He held up one of the sandwiches with a questioning look.

The slave shook his head, pushing out his hand with more insistence.

Dean looked at the kid for a while, then pulled a gleeful smile.

“You want a cookie, don’t you?”

Sam grimaced, holding out his hand again, this time more frustrated.

“I don’t have cookies, dude. I can get some,” Dean said plainly.

Sam shot daggers at the man. Shaking his head and walking back outside to his wall.

 

 

Dean brought Bobby a sandwich and ice water.

“Thought you’d be giving me hand, kid,” Bobby said looking up from his work.

“Bobby. Don’t call me that. It’s Dean. DEAN…” Dean said with a roll of his eyes.   
  
Bobby just smiled at that.

“Yeah, I think I gotta go get some cookies…” Dean said staring hard at the house.

Bobby looked him over, smiling. “You get into the special brownies, Dean? Got the munchies? Maybe you don’t wanna drive.”

Dean inhaled deep. Yeah, that would be a better situation than the one he’s in currently. “No, Bobby. That kid wants some.”

“He _told_ you that?” Bobby asked hopefully.

“Yeah. I mean no. Not in so many words. He needs other shit too. I’m going to the Walmart in Far Point. Be back in an hour.”

“You cannot. I repeat. Cannot. Leave that boy with me. I am too old and there is no way in hell I am giving that kid a spanking… Your slave. Your problem. Also, I did not lay into his ass with a belt and I ain’t looking to deal with piss in my boots… or my shampoo…”

“Yeah. Should probably add shampoo to the list…”

“Get two bottles. AND, I ain’t showering with him either.”

Dean exhaled, “You have to give me such a hard time?”

“Yeah,” Bobby replied plainly, taking a bite of his sandwich.

 

 

Dean smiled, walking away, reluctantly grabbing the leash from the entryway. Damn it. He really hated dogs. Stupid smelly creatures. They need shit… time, attention, walks… cookies… like all the time. Now he had a human-sized version of a Great Dane. Probably shits like one too. Dean shuttered.

He walked back outside, the kid still on the wall.

“Come on, Buddy. We’re going to get your cookie,” Dean clasped the man’s leash and pulled.

The kid stood firm.

“Look. We are leaving. I’m your master. I say we’re leaving.” Dean said firmly.

Sam just shook his head at the wall.

_Yep. We are doing this shit._

“Fine. We’ll do it your way…. You want a spanking, Sammy?” Dean rolling his eyes in defeat.

Sam grunted slightly, following Dean to the old black muscle car. Dean got ahead and stopped him before they approached the car, a hand pressed firmly to the slave’s chest.

“Before we get in here. This car is my baby. No shit. I love her. Way more than I love you. Do. Not. Fuck. Her. Up. I am very possessive.”

Sam pulled a smirk, raising his eyebrows amused. He looked Dean up and down. Then looked back at the car.

“That better not be an insult to my masculinity. I am serious. Be Cool. You know Caleb was a hunter, right?”

Sam nodded and sniffed, looking off in the distance.

“Yeah, I’m better. Like way better. You try some shit with me? You’ll be on your ass. So don’t try. Now, we’re going to the Walmart. You ever been?”

Sam shook his head, plump lips pressed, eyeing Dean.

_What was this dude’s game? No one takes a slave shopping. Not a wild one anyway._

  
  
“Well, you’re going now. We’ll get you some clothes that don’t look fifteen years old and your own shampoo. Feel free to piss in it if you want,” Dean smiled. “And cookies.”

Sam smiled slightly at that, pulling his head down.

Dean opened the passenger door, pointing to the seat, and pulling the leash. Sam pulled his neck back, pointing to the back.

“NO WAY. I want to keep an eye on you. Sit up in the front with me. I choose the music. Bitch shuts his piehole.”

Sam squinted hard.

“The passenger seat? It’s called the bitch seat… Never mind. Get in the damn car, please.”

Sam complied. Sitting down gingerly, his ass probably still stung. The tall man shifted his limbs, getting a feel for the seat.

Dean pulled a half smile and slipped in _Thundershock_ by AC/DC.

 

Dean parked the massive car in a parking spot far away from the main door. _Have to avoid dings_ , he explained to Sam.

Dean held up the leash. “Do I need this in there?”

Sam smirked, chuckling a little to himself.

Dean shook his head clasping the thick leash to the thicker collar. It looked really heavy and uncomfortable.

 

After a long walk in the blazing heat, they entered the giant superstore as two double doors pulled themselves open, revealing a mass of people and goods packed high. Giant smiley faces everywhere.

An elderly greeter met them at the door.

“Oh, you need to find the slave section? He needs a new collar?” the older woman asked politely, obviously confused by the presence of slave with a leash.

“No. He’s just new. We’re just in for supplies,” Dean said dismissively, walking away.

Dean walked hard toward the clothing, pulling the man steadily along. Every now and then stopping as Sam wanted to stare at one of the customers or some new bobble on display.

“Air freshener. It’s been a thing for a while. Don’t worry. We’ll get you caught up…”

Dean grabbed some big and tall t-shirts, extra tall jeans, work boots, shampoo, conditioner, and then, it was time to hit the cookie aisle.

 

They got to the long stretching, the seemingly endless supply of sugar, chocolate, and starch.  The site left Sam smiling and spellbound.

Dean watched amused. Sam picked out three kinds and went for a fourth.

“If I get you those, you need to promise to act right. At least for a few days. Then you can decide whether or not I’m a fucking asshole… Okay?”

Sam scrunched his face, looking down at the four boxes cookies. He picked one more with a sly smile, tilting his head.

Negotiating, Dean thought with a laughed.

“Okay, but we have a deal, right?” Dean bargained.

Sam nodded.

“Fine. Ice cream?”

Sam smiled wide, nodding his head quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small word about me. I try to answer comments after I post. The chapters will come out quicker if I do :)
> 
> Just a thing...


	3. Guess He Wanted a Spanking...

  
  
  
  
_Dean and Sam road back from the Walmart in relative silence. The whole adventure took a of couple hours, it was close to six o'clock. The sun making  it's graceful descent as they pulled into the yard. The wind died down and left the ground trying to cool itself off. As Dean opened the front door, the house smelled delicious! Bobby had cooked up some of his World Famous, road kill free, chili. Dean smacked his lips as he walked into the living room. Dean also caught a whiff of cornbread baking in the oven. Bobby was the best!_  


The chili simmered on the stove as Dean put the groceries away. The day had been long, Dean collapsed into that dirty green easy chair with a sigh. Sam knelt beside the chair, chin to his chest.

Dean sighed, rubbing his temples. “Dude. Okay. You want this or are you doing this because you feel you have to?”

Sam grabbed Dean’s hand placing it in his hair, shaking his neck, ready to relax.

Bobby walked into the living room and looked over at the two with wide eyes, huffing a laugh. “I’m pouring a drink. You want one Dean? Sam?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed as he looked over the older man, looking him in the eyes. He looked hard. He nodded his head, with purpose.

“You sure about this?” Dean asked, patting the kid’s head awkwardly.

Sam shook his head wildly. He grasped Dean’s hand, making a stroking motion.

“You are so fucking weird,” Dean complied, reluctantly. “Make it a double, Bobby.” Dean watched his hand move in and out of the fine hair, warm and soft. Sam shook his shoulders a little as if he just had a slight chill. Dean’s nose twitched at the man’s scent. Jeez, he smelled good. Now the crazy kid was in some state of bliss. Dean shifted in his seat. Watch it, Winchester…

Bobby chuckled pouring the glasses, then handing them out, carefully giving Sam a glass.

Sam took the glass in both hands and sipped gingerly, keeping his chin down as Dean pulled his fingers in and out of the auburn locks.

Bobby held up Blade Runner in one hand and Cobra in the other. Dean shouted “Cobra!” as Sam pointed to Blade Runner.

“Okay. Blade Runner’s fine…” Dean said shaking his head.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, Sam shook off Dean’s hand, resting his head contently on the armrest.

About an hour into the movie, Bobby brought in bowls of chili and cornbread. Sam blew on the contents of the bowl, about to pour it into his mouth.

“NO!” Bobby shouted quickly. Hurt spelled out in Sam’s eyes as he all but dropped the bowl on the ground. The man’s voice too loud and harsh.

“Son. It’s too hot for that. You’ll burn your tongue out of your damn mouth. Balls… like this,” Bobby said holding a spoonful of chili and blowing on it as if he were showing a small child.

Sam squinted back at Bobby. Caleb never criticized him for the way he ate. He was going to hate it here. Correction. Already hated it here.

Sam’s gaze not leaving Bobby’s as he dipped his spoon back into the chili, obstinately blowing on the food, raising his eyebrows as if to say, _like this, dumbshit_?

Bobby just cracked a laugh. “I like him.”

Sam hunched his head, circling his bowl more with his arms, concentrating on his food, smiling covertly.

 

By the time the motley crew ended the movie and the news finished, it was close to 10 PM. Bobby clicked the station _Tori and Dean_. Dean peeled himself up from the easy chair. Sam rested in a ball, curling his long legs and arms on the old rug, barely keeping his eyes open.

Dean snapped impatiently. “Come on. Time for bed.” He pointed to the stairs.

Sam’s lips began to twitch. He looked to Bobby, who took a deeper swig of his drink. Sam moved himself over to Bobby’s legs, resting his head on Bobby’s knee. The older man looked blankly at Dean, finishing the glass with one gulp.

“Sam. Time for bed. Let’s go. You are tired and it’s been a hell of a day.”

Sam looked Dean in the eye, then back to _Tori and Dean_.

Dean rubbed his brow, irritated. Dean had too many whiskeys to put up with this shit.

“I will actually spank you. It’s gonna hurt on top of what you got this afternoon… Get. To. Bed. Now. Go up the stairs. You have one more warning,” Dean said firmly, feet anchored and planted.

“DEAN!” Bobby said quickly, looking like he had just taken a bite of something foul, hands gripping the armrests.

“Bobby. If he’s my responsibility, he’s my responsibility. Come on, kid. Bedtime,” Dean snapped again.

Sam stiffened, red-faced and embarrassed. His eyes locked on the screen.

“Okay. Okay…. You’re in for it. Again… _Do you want a spanking, Sammy?_ ” Dean asked with an unhappy sneer, lips pulled up, finger pointing up the staircase.

 

_His insides screamed to fight back, but the little voice in his head was too loud. It hurt to disobey. Hurt worse than the shame. His stomach twisted hard. Hurt worse than a licking. And this guy? Was using it like a goddamn bell._

_Sam sniffled, his eyes watering, head down, he reluctantly obeyed. Pulling himself away from the older man who cared, but not enough to help. He pulled himself up the creaky staircase to his new room. A new room he was sharing with this card-carrying asshole. They were going to have fucking problems if this guy expected anything but a roommate._

 

Dean ground his teeth. Bothersome. Fucking bothersome. Caleb was right about this freak. Only understood the rod. Bothersome. Tiresome. What a fucking day… Whatever. Time to lay in some pain so he could get some fucking peace.

Dean shut the door loud after he came in the room. Sam looked back startled.

Dean shook his head as he sat on the edge of his bed.

“You know this ridiculous, right? Aren’t you supposed to do what the fuck I say? Isn’t that what it means to be a slave? How many years have you been one by the way?” Dean said, head in his hands, ruffling his hair back and forth, then giving his attention to his new slave.

Sam pulled his head back in a scowl. He held up ten fingers then two.

“How the fuck is that possible? You’ve been a slave since you were what? Twelve?” Dean asked over his nose, he had done some of the math after reviewing Sam’s papers.

Sam sniffed and nodded, his lower lip pressed out.

“So why the fuck would you not go to bed?” Dean asked honestly.

Sam scoffed and looked off at a very interesting corner of the ceiling.

_Not the answer Sam expected. Maybe? Sorry, your whole life has sucked and now you’re trapped in some dump in the middle of God knows where with a sadist._

“Come on,” Dean said patting his knee, the sound echoing into Sam’s ears in the near empty room. “I ain’t afraid to lick you, kid. My dad was strict as hell for really too long. You are fucking with the wrong redneck… That’s how I know this is going suck. I hope that it causes you to listen better. Wasn’t kidding, over here. Now. If I have to say that shit, I’ll make it worse. Come on,” Dean said quickly with warning, patting his knee again.

Sam stared hard at the corner, considering miserably his options. Finally, he awkwardly got up and laid himself over the man’s lap. _Stupid fucking new master… Caleb really hated beating him at all. He avoided it as much as possible. This fucker probably got off on it._

Sam draped himself over the master’s lap with unsteady everything. Dean kicked up a leg, pushing the kid’s ass out and sending him sliding on his hands. Now, his hands pressed flat to the floor, his legs balancing precariously in the air. Humiliating. His legs and arms shook and his eyes watered. Shaking with anger as much as fear. He felt a lump fall into his stomach. He hated it. Hated it.

 

Dean currently had his own problems to deal with. He had to look at that perfect ass. His breath caught, he had to pull himself back. I mean really. So fine and pert. Just quivering. Dean adjusted himself quickly, pulling an embarrassing erection to his waistband.

_Watch it, Winchester._

Dean took a deep breath, he was not going to one of those amoral jackasses who bought a damn slave because they couldn’t or couldn’t be bothered to get laid on their own. Still, a fine ass is a fine ass.

Dean rubbed the boy’s bottom as he spoke. He could not help it. Come on….

“Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon and we’ll forget about it. Okay?” he said trying not to get too distracted.

Then Dean pulled his hand back, hesitating briefly then slapped the boy’s ass five times. Lightly. Sam jerked too hard for the force.

Dean smiled.

“ _Already jumping_ … Just getting a feel for how sore you are. Pretty sore from the look of it. Good. Maybe this be a good lesson for you…”

Dean pulled down the cotton pants and pair of new briefs the master just bought his slave. Dean looked over the recently punished ass. So much prettier in pink, he thought, feeling the heat rising and feeling like he stared too long. He had gotten the boy pretty good with his belt, but there was still some real-estate… Namely the sweet spot. The area right between the ass and thighs. The area that sometimes just added to the shame of a punishment. This should teach him. Teach him good.

Dean alternated cheeks, slapping and bringing the other areas to a full bright pink, just peaking on a red. Sam’s bottom may have been a few shapes of pink, but his face went full on red as Dean laid into his sit-spot. He shifted and squirmed, only making it worse as Dean grabbed his waist to hold him steady.

As Dean gave the kid a very thorough spanking, his slave wiggled and fought. When Sam thought the prick had punished every square inch of his ass and would let him up, Dean gave him a sharp swat. Sam cried out.

Dean blinked. Damnit, Bobby probably heard that. Fuck it. Bad boys who don’t go to bed get a spanking. That’s just how it is. This slave was going to learn that… the hard way from the look of it.

_Sam just sobbed. It fucking hurt. However, he cried hard because even though Caleb could be an ass, he did not do this to him. Did not treat him like a fucking child. Hell, the former master could barely stand to see him naked. Caleb blushed, covered his eyes and cowered every time he did see him. I mean his former master could treat him like a wild animal but not like a naughty child. This was worse. So much worse. Sam sniffled, letting out a low miserable moan at the thought._

  
Dean paused, resting a hand flat on the bottom that was now very hot. “Okay. I know it hurts, and we are almost done. But I am going to give you just ten more. Five on each cheek. Then you’re done. Then? You go to sleep. Okay? Tell me you understand. You understand, right?” Dean asked, his voice a little more condescending than he intended.

Sam nodded with big shakes. Yes. Anything… Please. Please, could this be over?

Dean commenced his metered onslaught. Damn, he was strong. Big stupid arms, cleft chin, model perfect face. Bastard.

Dean let go and Sam fell off the bed and scurried like beaten animal over to his cot. Not looking the man in the eyes.

 

Sam seethed, kicking his legs, rubbing his ass deeply. Sam had counted the number of drinks this fucker drank that day. Like five? And that was just from when he showed up. He knew what to. He’d have to wait… The older man probably still in front of the television. Just a little rest and then… Sam would get some revenge. Revenge he couldn’t even be blamed for. Sam smiled darkly, both hands still on his sore bottom.

 

Sam woke up early. Like really early. 3 AM early. Stupid dickweed did not know to hook the leash to the cot. Sam snuck down the stairs, minding the creaks and minding his footsteps. The house was still and quiet. Sam found his bowl, he washed it out because that dick had handled it too much. He ran the hot water. Just the right temperature. He smiled as he climbed the stairs carefully, steeping on the outer edge of the stairs in a slight waddle. Silent.

Sam found the master sleeping on his belly. Perfect. Simply perfect. Sam slipped the master’s hand into his bowl of warm water on the floor. Dean stirred slightly but Sam was right. Dean overdid it the day before.

 

Dawn broke over the horizon in a dusty haze of yellow, purple and orange. The mornings already getting cooler as summer came to its close. Light peaked in through the yellow baby chick colored thick drapes hung by Bobby’s late wife. Sam smiled to himself, it worked. The room smelled of piss but it worked.

Eventually, Dean jerked in sleep, moving all around trying to find a more comfortable spot. Suddenly, his eyes popped open.

“HOLY SHIT!” the flabbergasted master called out. “FUCK!”

Dean looked himself over. He had soaked the bed. He turned an eye to Sam, who feigned his slumber, smiling sweetly as if in a very good dream.

Dean was wise. “YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

Sam opened his eyes in mock surprise.

Dean looked down at the metal bowl just between his bed and Sam’s cot. Dean pointed at the bowl, pissed. Sam gave him an odd look. He raised his eyebrows, as if to imply his master was a fucking moron and drank deeply from the bowl with hands. Then Sam’s face twisted and a pink tongue shot out of his mouth.

“You soaked ‘Lefty’, didn’t you?!” Dean asked giggling.

Sam looked back at him with a snarl.

“Totally rubbed one off last night! Too drunk to wash my hand… Normally. I’d lick you for that. But think that was punishment enough!” Dean laughed pulling himself up happily. Tearing off the bedsheets.

Sam got a look of realization. He pointed hard to Dean’s dick and then pointed to himself, with obvious anger.

“No! NO…” Dean blushed. Of course, that spanking, having that fine ass over his lap was sexy. Wasn’t like he demanded sex. Which in the confines of slavery was perfectly acceptable, not that Dean would ever operate with those seriously fucked up and abusive guidelines.

“Sean Young is hot, dude…” his voice trailed off. “Well, off to shower. Feel free to watch me or brush your teeth downstairs… Classic…” Dean laughed to himself.


	4. You're from Chicago, right?

  
  
  
  
As Dean rolled the bedsheets and blankets into a wad, Sam noticed something odd. The bed had plastic sheets under the mattress cover. Fucking brilliant. He was stuck here, in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, with a sadistic, psychopathic, redneck, alcoholic hunters, who apparently are used to pissing themselves in the middle of the night. _So much better than Caleb_ … Sam said to himself sarcastically.

 

Sam wiped a few tears thinking about Caleb. It was not so bad with Caleb. Caleb was thirty-six, about seven years older than Dean. Kind of a wiry guy, he kept himself in great shape. He had to if he wanted a fighting chance against something like Sam.

Still, the master had a good job. Caleb was a dental hygienist. He made good money, working regular hours. During the day, he kept the proximity collar on and left Sam in a room with a bathroom, a laptop, a packed lunch, and went to off to work. He kept Sam fit by running in the morning, lifting weights at night. They had a good rhythm until Caleb met Andrea Barr.

Andrea was a sweet girl with too much wavy brown hair, a genuine smile and a country twang. Widowed shortly before she met Caleb, she had a young son named Lucas. If Sam were honest, he would say she was about as sweet as pumpkin pie. Not a fault to be had that Sam could see. She even understood the life. Her husband cut down by a supernatural water demon or water ghost? Sam couldn’t remember, but she loved Caleb and loved that he hunted.

At first, it was smooth sailing. Like a riding a sweet wave. Love was in the air. Caleb sang more, smiled more, and punished Sam rarely. Add to that, Andrea liked Sam. She made him cookies and courted him as much as Caleb courted her. She spoke to him softly and respectfully.

As the relation grew, Andrea began to worry about what kind of impact having a wild, demonic slave would have on her son. Sam never met Lucas, but he did see pictures of the boy: redheaded, cute button nose, bright intelligent green eyes. Caleb would make a good father to that boy. But where the hell would that leave Sam?

As years rolled on, Caleb gave Sam more and more privileges. He gave the slave free reign over the house, within the confines of the proximity collar. Left him for days at a time, when he’d go spend time with Andrea and her family. That is when Sam started to get pissed. He knew it was wrong but what the fucking hell? Days and days on end with nothing to do but work out and play on the computer? _Gets old fast, trust me_.

Sam started to wear down the proximity collar just to go for a damn run. Got the hell out the house, spied on the neighbors, scared the school kids… He got in deeper trouble. Caleb bought a strap and started punishing him outside in the back yard. His master’s hand grew heavy and tired. At times he was just fed up and brutal.

Sam probably just went through his rebellious stage a little later in life. Azazel, his first master, trained him through his teens. Walked up to that deadbeat dad of Sam’s and offered him $250,000 dollars for the twelve-year-old son he abandoned nine years prior. Of course, Johnny Wesson agreed, took the money. And ran.

 

~*~

The real story began the one cold night in early November. The sky was hazy and still, as the wind kicked up all around rattling the beer cans left around the ancient derelict apartment complex, the kind of sky that made the air taste of snow. The demon Azazel came knocking on the door of Sam’s low rent apartment on the Southside of Chicago on a blustery night. Sam lived in the little hamlet named Fuller Park. The historically poor neighborhood boasted supremely staggering statistics. About half the residents were either unemployed or on welfare. Made the rent cheap so Sam’s mom could squirrel away money for his education.

Sam’s mom, Alice worked nights at a 24-hour diner, but that night she called in sick to stay home. Sam won a literary competition and it was time to celebrate with a night off and a pot roast. Just as the timer on the oven sang its familiar beep, the door of their apartment, previously locked tight with four deadbolts, flew open as if by itself.

The demon waltzed into the apartment, like he was dancing a soft shoe. The devil looked like a typical middle-aged man at first: well dressed, clean shirt and neatly combed thinning hair, a lazy smile, and keen eyes, like a lawyer or surgeon. He had a big blockish face, free of laugh lines but a look of wild amusement--amusement at the squalor Sam and his mother lived in… the poverty-laden domestic bliss. His eyes wandered lazily around the humble and tidy room Sam’s friends had never seen: shabby green shag carpeting, dusty dirt colored drapes, old decrepit couches that were old long before Sam’s mother bought them from the Goodwill, and a broken TV that only caught four channels, six when the weather turned cloudy.

Sam’s beautiful blond mother, stood awestruck in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a pot roast. She was a tiny thing. Pretty, but tiny. She was only about five two in heels. Blond hair, sharply angled face, like Sam’s. A pleasant symmetrical face with piercing almond blue eyes. She gripped tight a perfect brown roast, surrounded by small chunks of potato and carrots. She held the meal in her blue and white Pyrex with the two charred seventies orange and green oven-mitts. She looked at the man and dropped her proud dish as the man’s eyes flashed a piercing yellow-green. Sam saw a look of recognition in her eyes. She let out a sad wail that would haunt Sam dreams the rest of his life.

“Come to collect, beautiful,” the demon said as he made his way over to her. She shook her head as he snapped his fingers. Her neck pulled itself all the way to the left until Sam heard a bone chilling snap. She dropped cold. Lifeless and still. Sam’s hopes and dreams crashing to the floor with her.

Sam’s young heart dropped. He watched his only family crumble to the floor dangerously close to the roast.

The demon turned to Sam, who had grown white and jittery. “Look at what a fine little boy you turned out to be! So handsome! And clever! Too bad you won’t need any of that with me. Just need you to behave and be a _good_ little demon….”

Sam stared intensely at the demon. His eyes flashed a bright yellow as he snarled with a set of overly sharp teeth.

Azazel smiled wickedly.

“Chip off the old block, my boy! Chip of the old block… Come. Come on, son. Time pack our things and kiss your mommy goodbye…”

Sam shook his head, planting his feet firm, tears streaming, loss and anger raging into ever fiber. His body shaking and tensing, old parts of his body twitching.

“You want to know why I’m here, don’t you boy?” the demon smiled archly.

Sam just shook his head and pointed to the door.

“Not leaving without you boy. You’re mine now. Bought and paid for. Your price? A soul and a quarter million big ones…” the demon said cranking his neck to the side, “Daddy… well, the man you _thought_ was your daddy took that money with a smile. Now, Mommy? Mommy is a different story... You want to hear it?” Azazel asked taking a seat on the broke down couch, the one where you had to watch where you sat because of the loose springs. The demon did not seem to notice.

Sam shook his head again more slowly and pointed to the door.

“Good. Good. Don’t care for talkers. Come. Sit down.”

Sam’s lips curled and snarled, “GET OUT AND LEAVE ME ALONE.” The command caused Azazel eyes to widen as he gave a smile of appreciation. The tone so firm and imposing. Unfortunately, those words were the last Samuel Wesson would say for a very, very long time.

“Did Mommy ever tell you how you came into her little life? This sad mediocre life? Do you know who you are? Short story, actually… Daddy and Mommy couldn’t make a baby, so Mommy made a deal with the devil… Well, a demon. She wanted to have a son. More than anything. She wanted you, little boy. I told her I could help. She signed away her soul for a beautiful baby boy. She hoped a perfect little baby would keep that no account Daddy of yours from his wandering eye and wandering dick. It worked. For a few years. You see, you are more mine than that waste of humanity. He left when he realized you weren’t his and he was just so tired of your crying and neediness. Children need so many things. Your mother served her purpose well.

“Nevertheless, more about you! You have just started to flash those pretty yellow eyes of yours, right? Heard you got yourself licked good by the principal… right after giving him a glare. Oh, I have been watching you! Always scrambling to save the little underdog…”

The demon mused a little, looking out the dirty windows, then turning back to Sam, “Decided to do this legally. So much easier without the red tape. Your daddy sold you off as a slave, wee one. I hope to train you to be a very powerful demon. First, you learn to obey. Then, the _fun_ really begins!”

Sam shook his head. He remembered the glimpse of his own utterly terrifying eyes a few times in the mirror. When he watched himself cry. Mr. Wesson would forget his birthday or promise to come Christmas and then just never show up. When Sam would rage, the demon would peek out from behind the veil. Terrifying at first, then powerful--kind of a super power. Flash those eyes? People just did what he said or left him the hell alone. Or… in the case of the principal? Whack him with a paddle the exact maximum amount of swats. His ass ached for a week. Bastard.

The Demon whispered, “Calm,” as he walked toward the boy. The Demon snapped. In his hands, cold hands, fingers yellowed and stained from too many cigarettes or too much evil. Hard to tell. In those hands, he held a very heavy black collar. A shock collar. Sam’s body froze. Froze solid. He fought. He even felt his fingers twitch as the Demon attacked the thing around his neck. Heavy and cold. The thing never came off. Sam would wash with it, even sleep with on. Well, after they had strapped him down at the massage parlor, they did take it off to rub his neck.

The demon used a frigid hand to brush the hair out of the boy’s eyes. “Very pretty…” he said coly, smiling archly. The voice caused Sam’s heart to beat bird-fast.

“Now. Let us see what makes you tick, boy. I have been dying to do this…”

The demon wrapped his hands in the boy’s long brown hair, securing him tightly in his grasp. The dark man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he listened. Pulling a happy smile. “So many little secrets… Most boys your age are afraid of bullies, the dark, spiders, sharks, or hell, shitting in the school restroom. You are interesting… You are or _were_ afraid of that little _Mother_ of yours. Not that Mommy hurt you. Her disapproval… Interesting… She still spanked you, didn’t she? Not often. But she did. The spoon? Oh… Your own belt?”

Sam’s face turned beet red, his heart pounding faster. Blood filling up until his ears burnt hot. Embarrassment mixed with shame filled every part of his body. This scary motherfucker was reading his goddamn mind. No one knew that. No one.

“That smart mouth of yours… Got you into trouble, didn’t it? Tsk, tsk, tsk… Don’t worry too much about that. Won’t get you in trouble with me… But I will spank you, boy… Looks like you profited a great deal from it,” the demon cooed. If it was possible, Sam turned redder. He shuttered hard, thinking of those cold hands on his body.

“But that tongue? Not going to be an issue, dear boy. During your training, you_won’t_ speak_ at_ all,” the Demon sang. “It’s not that I don’t want to hear your cries of pain, agony, you know, from the torture… It is that I do hate whining. From all children…” The demon grazed the boy’s throat with a finger. “You may speak when your master says you may. Don’t worry, child. Won’t be gone forever. A few words could fix it. It's a spell, really. We’ll get to that after your training…” The demon’s voice was low and gravely. Scary. Terrifying.

 

That time would never come. Jonathon Winchester would enact revenge on that demon for killing his beloved wife before Azazel would release the boy from the spell.

John Winchester's wife? Dean’s mother, Mary. Azazel would met a violent end just ten day before Sam’s training would have be completed. After John put a bullet from the colt, through Azazel’s skull. The hunter found the boy in a cage. The kid was so feral at that point, all he could do was growl and shine those big bright yellow eyes. John ransacked the little cabin out in the middle of nowhere, found Sam’s papers, leash and brought him along. The idea of putting the kid down crossed the old Marine’s mind but he couldn’t do it. The kid was in such rough shape. Recently beaten, malnourished, and angry.

John cased the joint before he began his assault on Azazel. Watching though the window, like the maid who spied on Rumpelstiltskin, he listened in and heard the command words. The hunter watched captivated as Azazel held a little grey and white rabbit by the scruff of its little neck: one of his star pupil’s last tests.

“Need you to turn your little friend into dinner for tonight, Sammy…. You’re hungry, aren’t you, boy?”

Sam gulped, his mouth watered and stomach growled without permission. He was so very hungry. He shook his shoulders, like a kid about to ask a girl on a first date. Sam readied himself. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself. _Focus_. Then he looked at the long-eared bunny who had shared the cage with him for the past three weeks. The creature was so tame it let Sam weep tears into its fur.  
  
Sam just could not do it. He shook his head bluntly with purpose.

“Don’t want a spanking do you, Sammy?” the man spoke through his smile.

The words seared deep. Sam scratched at his forehead desperately until trails of blood found their way down his face, trying to will the words out of his head.

Azazel showed his teeth a little. “Need one more, do you, boy? _You don’t want a spanking, do you, Sammy_?”

With that, the rabbit, who Sam affectionately had named Bumpkin, died. The grey little loop-eared bunny’s neck pulled too far to the right, meeting his end instantly.

Azazel blinked slowly with a satisfied and devilish grin, pulling his neck back in an effort to better admire his accomplishment. Just then, the door to the cabin busted open with a strong kick to the door. Larger than live stood the infamous John Winchester. Shaggy dark hair kicked up by wind, circled his thick block face. A beast of a man. With his thick arms and signature sneer, John aimed the colt and shot the demon clear through the head.

Sam choked and pissed himself, kicking his feet, pushing himself back deeper into his cage. _Hunter,_ he thought.

John looked into the filthy cage, “You human?”

Sam scowled, eyes flashing yellow with warning.

“You look bad, but I saw you try to save that bunny. Jesus, you’re just a little thing… Well, a big thing. Heard your command. I need to use it or do you want to get the hell out of here?”

Sam sniffed and pulled his head down. No way out. Hunters… Azazel had warned him about hunters. They hated anything they didn’t understand, which was everything. Wanted to put down anything and anyone that wasn’t entirely human. "Not entirely human" was a box Sam could check… And this one? John Winchester? Notorious. Brutal. Vicious. Remorseless. The stone cold man had a hit list a mile long. Creatures of every type and variety. Cut down, hacked up, sliced and diced.

Azazel had shown the boy pictures of a few of them. Father James Murphy. Caleb Blacker. Robert Singer. Jonathon Winchester.

John shifted through the papers on Azazel’s desk as he eyed the kid who had not crawled out of the cage even though the door was wide open.

John read from a paper, pulling the page far away from his eyes to see the fine print. “You’re a slave… Huh. That makes this easier,” the burly man said as he reached in slowly click Sam’s leash.

He tugged. When the kid stayed firm, John asked the million-dollar question. “ _Don’t want a spanking, do you, Sammy?”_ the man asked with a sneer, tugging again on the leash.

Sam’s heart dropped. The command. The humiliating, treacherous command. Could be used by anyone! Sam’s eyes welled up with more tears than he thought he had left. His breath started raging. This meant-- Jesus, that meant he was a loaded gun. He looked at the bunny, lifeless on the floor as the burly man kicked it to the side, pulling him out of that crate. His legs unsteady as he tried to maneuver them out of the box.

John looked at the boy with a sly half smile. Looked weak. Powerful, but physically? Weak as a babe. John knew he probably should have put the sorry sonofabitch down… but something in the eyes… just reminded him of Dean. He couldn’t do it.

John grabbed the kid by the shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. If Sam hadn’t already pissed himself? He’d be pissing himself…

“You evil?” he asked the question more like a threat.

Sam cowered. He shook his head.

“You talk?” John thundered.

As Sam shook his head, John pinched the fat of the kid’s arm and yanked down hard. Sam whimpered, grabbing the sore spot.

“Well, you cry… No spells, boy. You gonna snap my neck like your little friend over there?” John asked too loud.

Sam shook his head vigorously, looking to the ground in submission.

“Look like a good kid. Probably a terrible idea but let me see if I can find someone to take care of you. You’re too dangerous to put into civilian life. Can you write?” John asked, looking for something to write with in the broken down cabin.

Sam shook his head. Feigning a wince and pantomiming a headache.

“Goddamn,” John laughed. “Son of a bitch did not want to know what you had to say, did he?”

Sam smiled sheepishly.

John patted his pockets and smiled. He pulled out a candy bar. “Saving it for Dean, but you look like you need it more.”


	5. Target Practice

_Dean finished his shower, walking back to his little room with a smile. He rubbed his head with a silly towel. Seriously. Giant two-toned blue roses covered the thing. Another monstrosity of a towel wrapped securely around his waist. Bobby's late wife's purchase way back in the seventies. Dean waltzed into his room, finding Sam lost in a book he found in another room on witches._  
  
Probably not allowed, but Sam did not care. Caleb let him read his books. His eyes lifted to Dean, then shot back to his book, embarrassed. Damn, his master was in amazing shape. What the hell did he do? Beautiful sculpted body, tan and rippled. Really, how? Looked like Dean just drank and puttered around behind the other hunter. Sam stole a few more glances. One as the towel dropped, and Dean shimmied into his briefs. Sam's breathe caught. He covered it up with a cough. 

After Dean dressed, he headed downstairs to start breakfast. Once he finished the eggs and bacon, Bobby moseyed in and took a seat after pouring himself a cup of coffee. The older man cradled the cup in his hands, looking off with a far, distant, and contemplative look. What the fuck are two hunters going to do with a damn demonic slave? There was _no way_ for this to end well. Someone was going to end up dead or hurt. Especially if his fool nephew kept trying to beat the shit out of a damn demon. I mean, really. _Spanking_ a damn demon? The ridiculous foolhardy little boy... 

After Dean finished frying bacon and cooking the eggs, he whistled up the stairs, projecting his voice loud.

“Better get your ass down here, Sammy. If I have to use the words you’ll be more miserable than you are now. So. Chop, chop.”

Sam’s feet petulantly stomped down the staircase to the kitchen. Dean saw the kid's nose twitch at the smell of the bacon. Dean smiled, then shook his head. The kid was carrying his damn bowl.

Sam knelt next to Dean, chin to chest, lifting his bowl.

“Damnit. Sit next to Bobby and eat with a fork, or I toss yours...” Dean said with a glare.

Bobby inhaled, set down the cup he couldn’t seem to let go of, shook his head and gave Dean his best irritated-as-fuck look. Dean just raised the side of his lip and narrowed his eyes, like a teenager.

Bobby raised an eyebrow and got back to his coffee.

Sam got off his knees and reluctantly sat down, moving the fork around with a finger, looking under the plate with mistrust.

Dean divvied out the breakfast, hustling around the kitchen, pulling biscuits out of the oven.

Dean sat down and started to eat, watching Sam, amused. Sam picked up the fork with unsteady hands, the scrambled eggs slipped off his fork.

“You gotta stab it, dude.” Dean forked the eggs and brought them to his lips slowly. Sam ground his teeth again. He grabbed one of the biscuits, pried it open with the fork and stuffed egg into it. Then pulled up his own lip and glared at Dean.

Dean scrunched his face in concern. Fucking weird. 

Sam knew how to eat. Mostly. Caleb didn’t trust him with knives, forks or even fucking spoons. Caleb had seen the teeth. Seen the eyes. After that? Nothing sharp. The house locked up tight. Knives, razors, scissors, toothpicks, pens, pencils, everything locked down. Drawers had locks. The key hung from Caleb’s neck. Sam felt like a toddler. Everything Caleb fixed for him could be handled or was cut up for him. Sam really missed cereal. 

After breakfast, Sam held up his watch, showing it to Dean, and pointing to the date.

“Yeah? Good boy. It’s August 15, Sammy. You wanna another cookie?” Dean asked pulling his neck back, uncomfortable at how close the slave had gotten to him.

Sam looked back, very annoyed. Dean looked at the man in surprise. He appeared very antsy, demanding, and had a look of utter frustration.

Sam made a motion with his fingers, pantomiming a keyboard.

“You want a computer? I mean, okay. I only use it for porn so it’s real slow… but okay…” Dean hustled up the stairs, fishing out his laptop from under the bed. He brought it back to Sam and logged in.

Sam pulled the thing out his hands, did a quick search and opened up notepad. He typed quickly, “ **Time for my massage**.”

“You can type? Why the fuck didn’t you try to communicate before? I thought you were slow or some shit. What the fuck?” Dean asked, exasperated.

Sam yanked the laptop out of his hands and wrote, “ **Don’t like you. Time for my massage**.”  
  
Dean laughed at that. Then he paused. 

“You want me to give you a massage?” Dean's voice faltered, eyebrows raised, his heart racing just a bit. He’d massage the hell out of that man. Top to bottom. Run his fingers up and down that tight little body. I mean, huge body. But oil him up, make a night of it….

Sam growled, shook his head, pointing hard at the screen.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it… Time for your massage… Let me call Caleb and find out what the hell I need to do…” Dean resigned, pulling out his phone.

He went into the living room and called up Caleb.

“Hi, Caleb, why the fuck is this jackass asking me for a massage today?”

“Huh… (long pause) Holy shit! What?... (much longer pause)… I can’t get that here! Think that is illegal in this state... Fuck! (pause) Okay… Okay… Thanks. Yeah okay… (pause) Yeah, had to whip him. Twice already…. He’s doing better…. (pause) Yeah. Thanks, man. And you still fucking suck for this…(pause) Okay. Okay. Love you, too. And congratulations… We’ll make it out to Las Vegas for the wedding… Bye, man.”

Dean walked back to the kitchen, Sam and Bobby still eating breakfast, Bobby looking more than a little uneasy.

“Okay! Well, hate to break it to you kid, but you’re in South Dakota. Not Nevada. I can’t find anyone… to do…” Dean paused, trying to say the words he couldn’t bring himself to say… Blushing madly… “ _That._ You are kind of freak, dude.” Dean said, impressed. The shit Caleb said he never thought to ask a girl to do. Not that he thought he could ask. Would probably giggle through it. I mean unless you found a complete freak, which Dean had yet to find, you couldn’t ask for that shit until you’d been dating like months. Dean hadn’t made it through multiple weeks yet.

Sam went bright red, throwing his fist into the kitchen table with a loud bang. Massage time was the one thing that kept him going. He started to choke a little. He was really going to miss Candy… and Tiffany... and Bruce… He hung his head. He just let loose. He cried and cried.  
  
At first, Caleb started him out easy. Massage… maybe hot stones. Then Caleb read an article that suggested manual stimulation. Caleb added a hand job. Sam came back shaken, blushing and smiling. Caleb would smile and roll his eyes. Whatever. Small price to pay for peace of mind. Less work for him. A happy Sam? Less threat of those teeth coming out. Then Caleb just handed Sam a list and he’d check off whatever he wanted. Eventually, he had tried the whole menu.

Sam was tall, handsome, muscular, and came with a clean bill of health. The staff at the parlor, use to middle-aged men and the dregs of humanity, came to like and expect him. He was also just so sweet and very grateful. It was a chance for them to play as much as it was for Sam to relax and enjoy. Toward the end, two or three of them would come in and take part. 

Dean saw Sam unhappy. Miserable. Like someone stole his puppy sad. Depressed enough, it Dean’s heart just broke.

“Come on man. I’ll show you what I like to do when I got nothing to do.”

Sam scowled through some tears, standing, staring deep into the old blue linoleum, with his arms straight and braced on the table.

“You’re coming with me, dude. The easy way or the hard way.” Dean walked up to him and clapped the kid on side of his ass, pointing to the door.

Sam reluctantly followed.

Dean stopped by the shed to get a duffel. Then walked his slave around Bobby’s property. Dean was getting used to the proximity bracelet he had to wear to take Sam anywhere. _Luckily, this thing requires a pulse_ , Dean thought to himself as he twisted the heavy thing around his wrist.

Dean showed him the pond. Well, it wasn’t much of a pond. The lack of rain had left it low and pathetic but Dean loved it anyway.

Dean skipped over to the pond which was about the size of a very small swimming pool, with no more than twenty gallons in it currently. Dean had set up a bench seat from an old WV, in the shade of broke down Winnebago awning, an old green cooler beside it. He settled himself on one side, patting the other side for Sam to sit down.

Dean reached in the cooler and pulled out a cheap bottle of Sour Mash Whiskey. Evan Williams Black Label. He tipped the bottle to Sam. Sam eyed him harshly. He pointed to the sun, shaking his head no.

Dean dismissed him, taking a shallow swallow. “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s gotten bad. Just miss my damn dad. You know? It’s been like a couple years. Can’t get out my funk. Can’t leave Bobby… I mean Dad? He just kinda ran everything. I can kill. I can track. I can fool damn near anyone. Don’t get me wrong. I am a primo hunter. Like one of the best. But… he just never taught me to do anything else. I’m nothing without someone else… Someone barking orders, showing me where to go, telling me what to do next. Bobby? He keeps up the business and I just hang on for the ride…” Dean paused. Looking at the kid who looked back with interest. Concern.

“Don’t mind being my therapist do you?” Dean chuckled. The absurdity of the situation becoming clearer. Looking out across his little pond… now looking less impressive with the addition of the new guest.

Sam probably saw Dean for the first time. The beatings? Probably mimicking what he went through his whole life. Still. Not fun to be a grown man with an ass that still stung hot from the day and night before. Sam shifted in his seat.

“Now I took you out here to play a game. Don’t worry, clothes staying on… Been thinking about it and I think you need some training. I mean, the place doesn’t look like it but Bobby’s? Shit can get real. Get real, real fast. Sometimes Bobby catches something he wants information out of. You are going to be a sitting duck without any skills. Especially if you can’t go hunting with us. So you need some weapons training.”

_Sam looked at his new master queerly. Did this stupid son of a bitch say he was going to put weapons in his hands?_

“Yeah. Yeah… Here’s our game. Let’s call it Logic. Okay. If you turn a weapon on me or Bobby, _we will take your ass down._ Seriously. I don’t know you from Moses. You have a reputation for being a bad motherfucker. S’okay. But if I die? Bobby will fucking _end_ you. And slow. You haven’t seen it yet, but Bobby? _Sick mutherfucker_ ….Like I have seen him take down some shit. If Bobby dies or gets hurt? I’ll beat the shit out of you, then sell your ass to the next fucking demon I find. A _sick_ one. Who will fuck you ten ways till Tuesday. With something… I don’t know, but it won’t be a massage. Then I track you down and kill you both. If you somehow manage to kill us both? Police catch you, kill you or make you their bitch. So… you understand, right? This will not end well.

“If you’re cool. We’ll kill some evil shit and you get out of the house. Or we can just pen you up. Like a fucking dog when we go out. Leave you in that crate with a fucking bedpan and sandwiches. Because after the incident with the shampoo? You? Staying outside.

“Now? Want to learn how to shoot a bow and arrow? Need to see where you are in terms of aim.”

Sam did not know what to say. Weapons? **Weapons**. _Weapons_. Not even Azazel was that stupid. He just shrugged, then nodded his head. Eyes wide and round.

Bobby saw Dean’s child bow and arrow set. He knew what was going and charged over to them.

“Dean. A word?” the older man said with a huff, hands pushing hard into his hips.

“Do not move. I mean it,” Dean warned, pointing a finger.

Bobby walked them far from earshot of the tall demon Dean was deciding to arm.

Bobby grabbed the man’s shoulders, staring straight into his eyes. Dean felt a slight chill. He pulled back his neck.

“What in Sam Hill are you doing? This kid is a fucking Demon and you are shoving weapons in his hands?” Bobby whispered at a hiss.

“Oh, now! Now, he’s a fucking demon. When I am beating his ass for being a disobedient motherfucker, he’s a little boy. Bobby. Let me handle this. He’ll listen to me. He’ll listen or he can continue to have a hard time taking a seat!” Dean called out to the kid.  
  
Bobby let of Dean's shoulders, giving him a rough shove. 

“Apple does not fall far from the tree…” Bobby said to his shoes, spitting on the ground. He stormed off. 

“You better do some goddamn work if you wanna eat, Dean! You’re feeding two, _ya prick_!” he called back staying straight.

Dean returned kicking dust on the ground. Staring hard. Damnit, Dad. Dean felt like he had just been saddled with parenthood. Parenting a goddamn Sasquatch. By the time Dean returned, he found the kid had set up the target and was shooting arrows. Terribly. But edging them closer and closer. He saw some hope for the kid.

“What _part_ of you had better not move did you not understand? You could have gotten yourself hurt,” Dean yelled, walking up the path, sounding pissed. Dean’d be over Dad’s lap in a heartbeat if he touched weapons without permission. Especially on the first go.

Sam froze. Damn. He had just gotten excited. Sam dropped the bow and hustled back to the seat by the pond. He sat hands rubbing his knees nervously. Hopefully, this did not mean he was going to be stuck in that cage in this heat. Or that he would get the belt again. He sniffed, not wanting to look at Dean. Feeling a little guilty.

“Come on,” Dean said wearily. “Dude, I am trying to help you. You are a naughty sonofabitch… Dad’d have my ass for a stunt like that… Weapons are dangerous, kid.”

Sam sniffed, shoulders slumped, looking too hard at the dust below his feet, and broke Dean’s heart.

“Man,” Dean said rubbing his head, “You must really hate that ass of yours.”

Dean took a long pause. Looking out past the scrapyard, into the clouds.

“I mean, I’ve been really clear… I did not even get licked as often as you and I was a bad kid…

“You want me to go through the old clichés? This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you… You’ve had this coming for a while now… Or do you want to try this again? I see you playing with weapons and I will whoop your damn ass. Don’t care how many times I did it before. Make no mistake. Your ass will be mine, capiche?”

A little light came back into the slave’s green eyes. He smiled, nodding with a little sniffle.

Dean was glad. Not that he didn’t think he’d have a good time swatting that kid’s behind again. Just a little slice of heaven. Man, did he need to get laid… Just couldn’t stop thinking of the night before. It was wrong. Hell but even wrong can feel right.

“Good. Come on. I’ll show you how to hit the damn target. Your form’s shit. We’ll fix it.”

The two spent rest of the afternoon laughing and working on the target until Sam had cramps in his legs and a few splinters in his fingers that Dean took care of. Still, the kid was getting good. Hit the mark about fifteen times. Not bad for the first time out.  
  
Then Dean took Sam’s leash and hooked up to the wall in the garage. Gave him some books on Demonology and told him to do research. On what, Sam was not very clear but he stayed obedient and still. Reading and studying.

His spanking the night before left a big impression on him, it stung on that folding metal chair Dean had him sit on.

Damn. Dean meant business. Sure. Azazel would pull out a whip every now and then but he was not this anal. Guess Demons expect bad behavior. Azazel also just enjoyed the threats. Enjoyed breaking his will. Enjoyed the game. Dean? Played no games. My way or a very sore bottom. Sam felt like a little kid around him. He kind of liked it. Not getting licked… but liked the attention. It was nice. Having someone who cared about him. And target practice was fun.

Still pissed about the damn massage.


	6. Demon Child

I 

 

 

 

_Two men sat in a dirty booth at a truck stop, just outside of Salt Lake in Richfield, UT. The joint known for slow service, barely passable food and toxic bathrooms._

_The night sky black as midnight during the new moon, the only light coming from the fading, blinking neon signs of the Truck and Go. A mom and pop shop that had fallen under the ownership of a good for nothing son. The smell of stale donuts, substandard hamburgers, and burnt coffee lingered heavy along with smell of the inhabitants. Old men who stank of booze, shook from crystal meth, or both, littered the convenience store and shoddy dinner. Along with a few questionable women who moon-lit as companions for men who lived on coffee, eight hour energy, classic rock and loneliness._  
  
  
The younger man huddled into his seat, nursing a cold cup of coffee looking intensely into the eyes of his companion who appeared greatly entertained. The younger man was a gaunt, tall, stick of man with a head full of closely shaved red-blond hair. He wore a seriously worn-out Led Zeppelin t-shirt and jean speckled with holes from too many cigarettes. His companion, about ten years older, somewhere in his late forties. And dressed the part. Members Only jacket and a golf shirt with kakis. Barth did not like to stand out too much. The burly squat man had a boxy face and a smile that made you look twice. He looked to be scheming near constantly. The interested look of a man who knew the game, and liked playing to win. His eyes, small and vacant, but with a flick of the lights? He could look like your neighbor or your best friend. The older man took a long draw from his coffee cup, motioning for the waitress to refill it.  
  
“Don’t go blowing your damn top, Eli. Just means we got a lead. Neighbors saw Caleb Blacker head out of town and come back without  _him_ ,” the man leaned back as the waitress refilled his cup. He gave her a charming smile. She blushed and huffed a smile, leaving them without looking back.  
  
The other one grit his teeth. “Straight out of the pot and back to the fire, Barth… You think _Winchester_ and _Singer_ are going to be easier to take down than Caleb Blacker?”  
  
“That kid’s so wild, bet they leave him chained to the wall in that scrapyard. All we need is a diversion. Then we get our hands on Azazel’s _little puppy_. Come on! Knight of Hell's own blood? Kid’s probably a walking, breathing, not talking but damn powerful son of bitch. Kept all docile and tame by those hunters. Got more than a few reports of the boy getting the daylights whipped out him on the back lawn… We'll just need to motivate him a little… You know? Press the right buttons… prod and poke all the right organs?” Barth sneered easily.  
  
“And just how do you intend to break in Bobby Singer’s house? The damn thing’s locked down, booby trapped and Demon trapped!” Eli hissed at a stage whisper.  
  
“ _WE_ don’t. We send in some hired guns. Why the hell would we risk our asses? Money is not an object. Hop in, hop out of some meat suit at the bank. Some church-going sap’s left to rot in jail…” the older man said coolly. Proud of himself, rubbing his hands in circles on the table.  
  
This seemed to calm Eli as he stroked a scraggly blond goatee.  
  
“Not half bad, Barth. Not half bad,” Eli mused, a smile appearing for the first time. “Not typical demon behavior. You are a bad sonofabitch Barth,” Eli said with some respect.  
  
“Not every demon in Hell is a complete idiot. I mean to land in hell, yeah. Idiot consolation prize. But. I was too good of a criminal during my time… Never got caught, Eli. I was careful. Murder, grand larceny, torture, decapitation... and the list was long, man. Didn’t stop that reaper. But, I was careful. You gotta be Eli. No choice... Back to the _current_ opportunity. Caleb had that kid locked down ten ways to Sunday. My guess is Bobby Singer and Dean Winchester believe they’ve just been handed a sweet little pet. A little lap dog. Not a cold-blooded killer... _Hellfire_!” the man hollered too loud, slapping his knee as it dangled outside the booth. “We are going to raise some Cain with that kid!” The man laughed to himself, greatly amused.  
  
“Hey, how’d you manage to keep an eye on him? You employ some demons? How’d Caleb not see through a bunch of demons roaming around his damn neighborhood?” Eli asked with some awe.  
  
“You idiot...” Barth rubbed his head, smiling through his fingers as they rubbed his cheeks and then raked his hair. “ _I paid off the neighbors_. Told them I was worried about the slave. I gave a few interested parties $75 bucks a week to tell me what was going on. No, I am not going to send demons, ghouls, vampires, shifters or any other damn monster into the very regulated domain of vicious hunter! This is why you keep getting caught and thrown back downstairs, ya fucking moron!”  
  
“Words hurt, Barth... Words hurt,” Eli rounding up his shoulders, rolling them until his posture was straight and at attention. A smile slowly creeped onto his face to stay. His eyes now burned midnight black with satisfaction. _This might actually work…_  
  
  
~*~

As far as people go, Sam was resilient. The torment and the torture would have broken a less man. Sam stayed strong. He could get through that? He could get through this. Wait. Here was not so bad. Seemed he was always under someone’s thumb, but this time? Maybe it was a little less lonely.  
  
Currently, Sam had his eyes closed, thoroughly enjoying the pet Dean gave him after dinner. Hands curling deep in to his hair. Occasionally Sam would dip his head so Dean could tickle the back of his neck. It seemed the new master was getting use to the idea.  
  
Still, the master was an anomaly. Handsome guy. A man who decided to throw everything away to save people he did not even know. Noble and ridiculous all at the same time.  
  
Sam startled as Dean barked a laugh. He had put on Top Gear and was enjoying himself fully. He was four beers deep, but at least he was a happy drunk. Sam’s dad could not make the same claim. Not that he saw the man much. Would typically stop by every six months or so. Just so the bastard could fuck his mom and could goad him into some form of defiance, lip, or sass. Then the old man would lay into him. He'd take it. Because if he didn't? He get it again from his mom.  
  
The only time Mom never had his back. “He is your Father, Sammy. He just wants a little respect…why can you not just be a _good boy_ for him? I know you can…” she'd always say. Always with a little guilt.  
  
Sam never had an answer for that. Well, he never had an answer that wouldn’t end up with him on the receiving end of a kitchen spoon or his belt. Still, she never pressed. She’d just bring home some token. A video game. Ice cream. Some fucking token that he accepted with a smile but it always turned his stomach.  
  
That man was her only weakness. She refused to date. She didn’t drink. She didn’t even watch tv. She had one vice: his father. She truly believed one day he would come back for good. She looked at him all starry eyed and blind to the deception. Blind to the blatant lies. Promises that never came true. 

 

Sam shook his head. All past. Dead past. Now? Not so bad. I mean, Sam was used to being under someone’s thumb. His mother, his father, Azazel, Caleb and now Dean. Maybe the other hunter but he seemed really pissed when Dean took a hand to him. Probably would take some work, but eventually? Sam could probably get the man to reign down hell on his ass. Always did.

But now? Was not so bad. Where ever the hell they were in North Dakota... Food was decent. He always had company.  
  
After Bobby cleared up the dinner dishes and the detritus of the meal, Dean brought the laptop out and put it on Sam’s lap, who knelt on the floor next to him. Sam still sat on the ground. He did not sit on the furniture unless threatened. Even then, he looked uncomfortable enough that Dean just told him to take the floor again.  
  
“Tell me why the hell you can’t talk dude,” Dean asked, tapping the laptop with a finger.   
  
Sam looked at him slyly, raising an eyebrow. “You really want to know?” he asked with his eyes.  
  
“I don’t want a staring contest. Tell me why the hell you can’t talk. Did you ever talk? You can make noise. I have heard it. Is there some kind of trauma? Did someone touch you in all the bad places or what?” Dean asked blankly.

Sam opened the laptop.  
  
**Demon took my voice when I was 12. Hurts to write. Doesn’t to type.**  
  
“What is this some kind of Little Mermaid situation? Is your voice like in a damn seashell?”  
  
Sam laughed. Pulling the laptop back.  
  
**Azazel said it was a spell**  
  
Sam watched as Dean looked at the laptop and paled. He stared too long at the last line of text. His lip started to go, he sneered in and out. His body tensed. Visibly angry. Set the kid on edge. Sam’s heart started to beat fast. Bird fast. What the hell was going on?  
  
“AZAZEL? What the hell do you know about Azazel?” He looked hard at Sam. Dean pushed to laptop back into Sam’s hands. Sam took it, blinking quickly. His fingers flying on the keys. Just need to clear this up. Not like he was Azazel…  
  
**Azazel trained me. Your father killed him, then gave me to Caleb.**  
  
Dean’s eyes started to water as he closed the laptop with purpose. Sliding it on the end table. Dean looked irate. His face contorted to a deep scowl. What the hell? Sam asked himself as Dean threw a fist into one of Bobby’s sitting chairs. The wood cracked under the blow and created a noise that scared the bejezus out of Sam. The poor kid reflexively cowered.  
  
“ _You_ stay put. I swear to God. Stay the fuck put. When I come back? You are telling me about this fucking training,” Dean pointed a finger, hissing his words with probably more spit than he intended.

  
Dean left the room, then the house, slamming the door on the way out with a loud bang.  
  
Sam looked around the foreign room, still and quiet. Not yet home but not as strange as when first got there. He closed his eyes and prayed. For the first time in a long time he prayed. Noticing his prayers had never been answered before, seemed pointless. But this? Scared him. His life held in this crazy immature man’s hands.

  
  
He shuttered as he remember the first time Caleb saw the teeth, the eyes. Sam had broken one of the many rules Caleb set in place upon his arrival. Do not leave the house without me. Caleb had made that clear, in no uncertain terms. But he just wanted to feel the sunshine. Then? Accidently locked himself out of house.  
  
John had warned Caleb about Sam. John saw the whip curled up on a table close to the cage. He noticed chains, the collar, the food bowl. He warned Caleb.  
  
“He’s dangerous. But I can’t keep him. You think Dean and I could just move him in and out of hotel rooms?”

 

Caleb was a good man. He looked at the bloodied mess of a boy and took him in. Just so pathetic. And Caleb might have been a little lonely. His only friends, hunters who called him up to play FBI, run research, assist on a some bear of a hunt that left him exhausted and nursing wounds. The scars, both mental and physical, added up quick.  
  
Caleb came home, called for Sam to join him in the garage to lift weights. One of Sam’s favorite things to do. Probably because it was one of the only things, he did with someone else.

  
Sam heard him calling. He tapped on the glass pane in the door with a nervous finger. Yep. He had managed to not get a beating for nine months. Nine months of learning routines, laughing with Caleb, learning defense just grappling and throws. Now? He knew he was in for it. A lump in his throat gathered as Caleb’s hands shook at his side. His eyes dark and pissed as his head made a slow progression back and forth.  
  
Sam watch Caleb slowly pull his belt through the loops from the window and toss it on the coffee table.  
  
“What the fuck did I tell you?” Caleb growled as he opened the back door, pulling Sam by the shirt into the house. “I have fucking neighbors! Neighbors that will call the fucking cops! Now owning a fucking slave is fucking hard enough to explain! Anyone finds out? We’d have to start explaining why the fuck you aren’t registered! Because! You are fucking demon and showing up to the fucking slave office will yellow fucking eyes would cause a national fucking incident! Grab the back of that couch Sam… This is the last time you pull this shit with me… You are enough of a fucking burden… Goddamn it Sam!”  
  
Sam gripped the back of that leather couch so hard his finger went white. He heard the belt whistle through the air and catch its first strike with a hard crack. The pain rode him deep. Burned and seared. The shame of being beaten again pulling him down further. Sam cried out. Sam heaved in and out, as the first friend Sam had in five years punished him brutally. Sam would have bruises for weeks. Caleb Went too far.   
  
Eventually, Sam bore teeth. It hurt. Like it always did. Not like he tried to. Just fucking happened. Reflex. Azazel would smile when the teeth came out. Caleb dropped the belt to the floor, slipping a knife from his boot, grabbing a fist full of Sam’s hair, pulling back and grazing the boy’s neck with the tip of the blade. Sam’s breath caught, his teeth retracted, his limbs went weak. He had a hard time staying straight.

Caleb’s tone changed after that incident. It started with:

“You want to pull a weapon on me _boy_? I will pull on you. You mind those teeth. Next time? I give you beating like you’ve never had before. I am not a fucking demon. I do not need you. Do not need you in my house. I do not need you for any grand demonic plan. I will fuck you up. Make no mistake. Now. Go to your room. No dinner tonight. Stay there Sam or Lord help me.”  
  
The next day, Caleb locked Sam in the garage. More like chained him in the garage. A garage that Caleb had cleared all night roughly. Throwing tools, all manner of yard equipment, and ammo and into the living room, keeping Sam too terrified to sleep. Caleb took the day off. Came back without letting Sam out until all the locks were in place, the proximity system in place, and everything in the house on lock down.

 

Sam found himself pulled out of the past by the present. He heard glass shattering, hard pounds into metal, what sounded like heavy objects hurled into scrap. Bobby appeared from the sitting room, book still in hand as he tossed it on the floor to go attend to his drunk ass nephew, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he opened the back door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Faraway22. This story did need to move itself along.


	7. Get Upstairs. Wait for Me in Our Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Holy not paying attention Batman. This was not supposed to go out tonight :)
> 
> Well, Happy Halloween all!

The night got worse by the second.

_Sam sat pensive and tense, chewing on a fingernail, staring vacantly into a seventies painting of a geometric sunburst: burnt oranges, deep reds, and dusty yellows parallel and undulating in a fixed pattern, stupid m-shaped birds traversing the sky. The slave’s muscles locking and straining, his mind was flashing and winding through each devastating possibility. Life, death, and pain hung in a precarious balance. The walls appeared to be caving in on the overly tall, overly large young man. Sam could barely keep himself from bolting. Maybe he could see how far he could actually get._

Without warning, Bobby kicked open the door, the hinges creaking abruptly as the older man propelled his nephew inside the house with a blunt shove. Dean tripped a little on his feet, looking like an errant child. The sight stunted Sam’s panic and caused his nose to crinkle in surprise. His eyebrows raised. _So this was the pecking order…_

“We are dealing with this in the morning, boys! And make no mistake, I mean _boys_! I hear either one of you messing with the other? There will be no breakfast for either of you!”

Sam watched keenly as Bobby dragged his finger over the books in a very tall bookcase. He stopped, pulling out two thick volumes, looking them over. He held the books far from his face to read the texts, giving a curt nod.

The man’s brow furrowed as he tossed one dense book into Sam’s lap, the other hard into Dean’s stomach, causing Dean to puff out a breath of air and wince at the force.

“Sam? You’ve got Necromancers! Dean, you study up on Ghouls. Don’t you think there will _not_ be a quiz! Now, scoot!” The man’s voice was thick with authority and ire, so much, Sam felt a sharp chill fill the room and chase down his spine.

There was no need to tell Dean twice. He hightailed it up the stairs in a heartbeat. Sam startled and followed suit, hot on his heels.

Dean and Sam spent the majority of the night reading their respective literature. Sam huddled deep into his cot, his ratty old blanket wrapped around his shoulders despite the heat of the room. At about ten o’clock, Dean finally announced it was time for bed. The master and slave snuggled into their own beds, locked in a still silence of their own making, each for very different reasons.  


* * *

 

Bobby woke up at the crack of dawn, throwing on some oatmeal on for breakfast, slamming down pots and banging closed cabinets. He called up the stairs, hollering to wake the boys, the hour much earlier than either of them wanted to be conscious.

The makeshift family consumed their meal in silence and no one made eye contact. Bobby sulked. Dean kept his focus and bristled when Sam came anywhere near him. Sam noticed and shrunk a few inches into his chair each time.

After breakfast, Bobby directed the two into the living room.

“Now, we are going to get to the bottom of this, regardless of either of your pretty little feelings. Understood?”

Both men nodded, neither looking up, then following him obediently.

Bobby took a seat in the living room cattycorner to Sam. He met Sam’s eyes and pointed at the broken armchair. Bobby eyed Dean and pointed at the loveseat, so all three were facing each other, the tension in the room thick and electric. Sam shivered in his new t-shirt. Dean looked everywhere but at him, his eyes wandering all over the familiar room, chock-full of books and dust.

“Now. What the fuck is going on?” Bobby pulled out the laptop, thrusting it into Sam’s unwilling and shaky hands. “What is this about Azazel?”

Sam inhaled deeply. His eyes started to water as his finger raced over the keys. This was the end. Sam knew it was the end. A hard lump fell into his stomach as he handed the thing back to Bobby.

**Azazel killed my mother. Kept me in a cage for eight years.**

“What the fuck did a Knight of Hell need you for, boy? This is making less and less sense. Spill it, kid. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” Bobby assured the slave.

Sam pulled the laptop back. He rubbed at his hairline nervously. He began to feel beads of sweat form on his forehead. There was no reason to hide this. It wasn't as though he hadn’t signed his death warrant already anyway. Sam’s hands shook so violently he could barely hold the laptop.

**Azazel said I am his son.**

Bobby looked at the boy with a shake of the head and a pressed smile.

“Kid, we know about the eyes. We know about the teeth. Calm down. No one is putting you out of your misery any time soon. We just want to know why he wanted you. If the bastard wanted to raise you as his own he would not have put you in a damn cage. What’s going on, son?”

Sam sniffed, swallowed and rolled his shoulders, holding the laptop timidly. He stole a glance at his master. Dean was scowling at a chartreuse lamp across the living room.

**I can move things. I can kill. I can fight. I am not a monster. But I can be. He used the code to make me do horrible things.**

Dean stood up, edging himself closer, looking over Bobby’s shoulder intently. His eyes locked, dead serious. Once he looked to register the words, he lost it. Once more? He lost it.

“Goddamn it. God fucking damn it! What the fuck are we going to do with him?” Dean yelled at the ceiling, more to the universe than to anyone in the room.

Sam started to shiver, his nerves took over, looking down like he would prefer to just melt into the floorboards.

“Now, just calm down. You keep your shit together, kid,” Bobby warned. “Sam, we need to break this damn spell and get you yapping with the rest of us. And as much as Dean likes it, we need to break the fucking obedience spell. Now we need to do some research. My guess is you’re real fucking motivated to solve this. Get on the internet and search! I am going to go through my books. Dean? Get the fuck outside and fix something.”

Bobby cranked his neck as he watched Dean walk outside, posture slumped. Bobby put both hands on his knees and leaned in, eyes steeled.

“Now, tell me all you know about this demon…”

 

* * *

 

In a quaint motel called the Lakes Lodge and Boutique in Wentworth, SD, a couple of Demons check in one August night carrying golf bags and empty suitcase to their room. Their more important baggage was their nefarious and devious intent.

As Dean would like back on the situation, the cover was brilliant. Guests willing to pay for an expensive hotel rarely questioned their proclivities.

Barth had outfitted the two with stylish yet moderate clothing, explaining to the staff that his partner had a love of golf and this was a special trip for them both.

The staff, new to homosexuals of any variety left them alone, fearing any disturbance might offend or upset them. When asked why they never ate at the restaurant, Barth simply said, “Protein shakes.”

This was enough because the bigoted assumption that was that this was what all new age homosexuals consumed.

Once settled in the little bungalow, Barth pulled out his clipboard from his mostly empty suitcase, taking a seat in a thick pine chair at the small dinette. His partner opened and closed each of the pine cabinets, searching for what, Barth could not be sure, nor did he really care.

Elliot stopped, staring at him, perplexed.

“You Demons… This is a job, boy. _A job_. If you treat it like a job and not a damned scavenger hunt, you’re more likely to get it finished.”

Elliot rubbed his head in protest. “Really, Barth? Why the hell are we so far away?” His whine obviously grated, getting on every last one of Barth’s nerves.

“Yeah and the further you move out, the more questions Bobby Singer and Dean Winchester are going to have to ask. You think a _golf resort_ is going to be the first place hunters are going to look? _Think smarter_ ,” Barth chided looking out the thick beige curtains to the patio. Thick Adirondack chairs, rockers and picnic tables mixed in with carefully manicured and maintained wine barrel flowerpots were scattered artfully outside. Barth rubbed his chin, eyeing his partner, “Smarter… _If that is even possible for you lowlife_ …” The demon’s partner scratched at the older Demon’s patience.

Still, Elliot had inside knowledge. He was one of the few demons left who had actually worked with Azazel, though it wasn't like the moron was the Knight’s right-hand man. All of those had been hunted down and thrown back into the pit for failure to protect their master. Elliot had been spared. Crowley repurposed him to the crossroads shortly before John Winchester’s murder of Azazel. Barth knew his current partner was a little short on the uptake but he hoped he could prove at least slightly useful or he was going to end up with a demon knife embedded somewhere unpleasant.

Elliot clearly enjoyed his new partner. He appeared to revel in the idea that this partnership could be very good for him. He pulled a half smile, relaxing into a short loveseat.

“So what’s the plan, Einstein?”

Barth did smile at that, basking in the quick stroke to his ego.

“Glad you asked! We are going to send a werewolf to attack a few pretty girls in Whitehorse, SD, barely a blip on the map. No hotels, no real civilization for miles, just parkland, farmland and reservations for miles, nowhere to hold a basecamp. They’ll have to leave him at home or tied up in the car. Either way? He’ll be nice and gift wrapped.”

Barth let that sink in. It was a great plan and he swelled fat with pride.

Elliot slapped the table and looked up, flashing a smile.

“This could just work, Barth. This is going to work!”  


* * *

 

Dean was not gone long. He opened the door and crooked a finger to Bobby. Bobby’s lip twitched but he followed the fool boy outside.

“Bobby, I can’t do this. We got anyone else to handle him? Garth? Jacob? Fucking Carl Bates? I don’t care. Sonofabitch is a fucking demon and has spent too much time with Azazel for me to not want to kill the bitch in his sleep. I swear, Bobby. I don’t trust myself around him. He’s got some serious mojo and I am pissed.”

“You freaking idiot. That kid’s been kicked around his whole life and look at him! Docile and tame. What kind of man do you think that makes him? Huh? A Goddamn demon? Or a scared little kid? And for some reason only known to God, he _likes_ you! No idea _why_. But he’s yours. You think any other hunter is going to keep him around for more than a week or so without caging him up? You seriously think _any_ other hunter could protect him as well as we could? Start thinking with your fucking heart and not that rotten melon you’ve been poisoning.”

Dean slumped again. He closed his eyes with a deep shaky breath.

“Fine! Fine. But that kid is going to learn some manners. I am not owning some damn heathen. He stays? My rules.”

“You asshole. You can’t just beat the hell outta him all the time, Dean. You’d better temper some of that discipline with fucking kindness or I start laying into you! I am still your uncle and don’t you forget it.”

“You’d never beat me, Bobby! I know because I tried to make you, and you never did,” Dean said looking at the ground.

“I know you did, boy! And damn straight. I got enough of it as a kid. But I sure as shit would kick your ass!” Bobby stomped his way back to the house.  
  
_Dean raised his eyebrows at that and smiled. He believed that._

_Dean shook his head. He pulled out his phone and called Caleb._

* * *

 

Bobby did pass go and did not collect $200. He stomped into the kitchen. The older man did not feel like cooking. He pulled out a frozen slab of deer meat, poured in a can of beer, threw the damn thing in the Dutch oven, setting the stove burner on low. It’d be probably tough. Fuck ‘em. Bobby didn’t want kids for a reason. He did not have the patience for this bullshit. He pushed the door open and decided to go back to work on the Gremlin. Stupid hunk of junk.

 

* * *

 

What Bobby did not see was Sam weeping softly, choking occasionally, and staring deep into the computer screen. This was hopeless. There was no way to find a cure for that spell, that wholly humiliating spell.

Sam scoured the internet, not even finding a hint at breaking it. He did feel a tiny bit lighter. They were looking. Or they said they were. Everyone else just enjoyed the power.

Just as Sam was wiping the snot onto his pants, Dean walked in. He must have seen the hurt in the boy’s eyes because he bent down and peered at Sam's face.

“Come on, kid. It’s not so bad. Well, okay. It’s bad but I swear we’ll try to fix it. I just talked to Caleb…”

Sam when three shades paler. His heart dropped. Was he leaving again? Was someone finally going to put him down?

“He told me you talked to him… Or typed to him. He said it hurts you when I say that shit. I’ll try not to say it, Sammy…” Dean paused, almost looking guilty. Sam squinted. Dean shook his head, he put a warm comforting and firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam almost smiled.

“Don’t think I am going to stop being hard on you! You _got_ to get civilized. You have no damn manners and if you are going to function here, you need to start acting like a fucking _human_. That means, cut the slave crap. Sit on the furniture. Throw out the damn food bowl. And please! Listen to me. If I am in charge of you, you need to _listen_. You’re going to get yourself killed or worse. If you’re going to walk around with the normies you need to act the part. And if you’re going to start going on hunts with us, you need to act the part. Out in the field, I am king. I know what the fuck is going on. I am your general. And we do too much wheeling and dealing to worry about you acting like an ill-mannered monster.”

Sam looked back at his master dumbstruck. _Walk around with people?_

“I'm not insulting you. Just letting you know how it is. Let me know you understand me. I know you’re smart as hell and you comprehend everything I am saying. So, we on the same page? Nod your head.”

Sam nodded, smiling, wiping tears and smiling wide.

“You get civied up and normal? I will take off that collar. Looks weird and heavy. You are a damn neon sign with that thing on.”

Sam nodded again more vigorously, thumbing the collar. _Good God, there was a chance to get this thing off?_

Dean took Sam out to the yard to work on some social skills until dinner rolled around. Bobby dished out a hunter’s dinner: not monster hunter’s dinner, a _real_ hunter’s dinner. 

Sam ate with his fork. Even allowed Dean to show him how to cut the meat with a steak knife. Dean didn’t even flinch when he got close to him with the knife. He took his first bite like it was the best thing he had ever put in his mouth.

As the meal came to its close, Dean reached over to take the kid’s plate. There were a few scraps of food still left on the plate, but Sam must have looked like he was finished as he gazed out the window, deep in thought.

Animal instinct kicked in. A low growl escaped Sam’s plump lips. He snarled, bore fangs and flashed his eyes.

Dean just shook his head. “Motherfucker,” he whispered, disappointed.

“Get upstairs. Wait for me in our room.”

Sam shook his head, scared out of his wits. Frozen.

“Get upstairs, Sam. Do not make me say it twice.”

That snapped him out of it. He pulled himself quickly and flew up the stairs in a whirl.  


* * *

 

Once in the room, he could hear the men hollering at each other downstairs.

“Dean? What the fuck did I say?” Bobby roared loudly. Sam’s ears perked up as he prayed that Bobby could talk his master out of this.

“What the fuck did _I_ say? He can’t act like that! You think that’s not going to blow our cover? He’s got to learn!”

“Dean, you are one piss poor teacher if you think that is the only way to get across to him!” Bobby spit.

“Bobby. We don’t have time. This works fast. What you want me to have him write lines? Like,  _I will not be a fucking monster when the waitress comes to take my plate_?”

Sam’s eyes bulged at the mention of a waitress. Jesus. It had been a decade since he had been out to a restaurant. He had only _just_ gone to a store, a big gigantic weird one, but it was fun. He momentarily forgot what they were discussing. The thoughts of actually going to a diner like the one his mom had worked at turned excited cartwheels in his head.

Wait. Oh yeah. His upcoming beating.

“You got me there. Just… not so _much_ , kid. You’ve already tanned him twice and he’s only been here three days!”

This turned Sam’s face red, blood brimming to the top. Yep. Twice in three days. And in line for yet another. Since Dean talked to Caleb, probably the most brutal one Dean had ever given. Given the success of Caleb’s beating the first time he growled and bore teeth.

“Yeah… yeah…” Sam heard Dean answer blankly.

Sam’s large heart thundered as heard Dean climb the stairs in a slow stride. His footsteps echoed in a regular thud that increased in volume as the master ascended the staircase and approached down the hallway. Sam pulled in a deep breath when he heard the man pull open the door.


	8. The Choice

  
  
  
  
  
The door to Sam’s room opens without preamble. It swings steady. Dean’s use to the weight. Dean inhales deep and narrows his eyes, still disappointed, still distant but ready to do what he promised. He’s handsome even like this, slapping that belt on his leg again. Sam's heart is fluttering. Shame and terror rising fast. This is going to suck. Sam is watching Dean stare and the slave's about to piss himself. God he hopes he doesn’t piss himself.

“I’m sorry I have to do this. We just need to get that ass of yours to tell that brain of yours it doesn’t like getting licked and to keep all this animal crap underwraps. Dude. You want to be chained up in this dump the rest of your life or do you want to learn how to be a fucking person?”

Sam looks back at his master unsure of what to say. He’s stunned and can’t say anything anyway but can’t decide how he feels either. Sam lived so far away from that life it seems distant and foreign. He isn’t sure he deserves it anymore. He isn’t sure could handle it anymore. The lines form deep creases on his forehead.

“ _I will put this belt back on_. You can stay here, as long as you keep the summer camp crap at a minimum I’ll never beat your ass. You can just watch Netflix, porn, eat Cheetos, I’ll get you an Xbox… But if you want back into life? I am going to teach you the only way I know how. So either drop ‘em and grab that footboard or stay on the bed. You’re choice.”

The choice should be simple. But Sam knows he can’t go back to the life he had with Caleb. His sad lonely life. A life where he watches as the world evolves and changes around him. Where relationships blossom and flourish where he can only observe. Where news and life pass threw him as stories on a screen. It doesn’t ever feel real. Like he’s watching the shadows on Plato’s cave wall play out without him. The beating doesn’t seem so bad.

Sam pulls himself up. Tears reforming in his eyes. He rubs at them absently. It burns. His eyes so tired and swollen he cannot believe he can still see through them clearly. He walks heavy the footboard and wraps fingers around the bar of metal. Sturdy and chipped. The frame of Dean’s bed looks like a hospital bed from an old horror movie. It’s cold and the paint’s worn off where he puts his hands. Sam plants his feet. Settling back on them because if he leans too hard he might bend and break it. He doesn’t want double the punishment for destruction of his master’s property. He’s a good boy, he wants Dean to know it. He doesn’t know how to prove it. But he’s going to try. Sam brings himself upright, he remembers his master likes to do this on the bare. His shorts and briefs fall to the ground and he centers himself again.

“Good Choice. This’ll be over quick. I know you didn’t mean to do it. But there are consequences for fucking up. So don’t.”

Dean’s slapping the leather on his palm now. It sends deep chills down Sam’s long back as he tries to shake it off without making too much fuss. Dean calms him as he put a thick warm hand on the small of his back to steady himself. It’s delicious if Sam is honest, he can’t really place or decide why but fuck if it’s not as hot or hotter than the massage parlor.

_Dean’s got his own problems. He’s right back where he started that first night. He should really just make this kid stand in the corner, because although Dean really believes this is going to help the sorry sonofabitch, damned if it’s not confusing. But the kid’s ready for it. Not to mention, Dean made through years of this shit. Every time he looks at the damn metal bed. Yeah, he wore that paint down years ago. It seems like he should have worn down the metal as hard as he’s gripped it so many times before._

_Dean crinkles his nose. Back to business. He has no intention of making the five o’clock news with the super freaky slave who can bare his teeth like fucking Spawn. As much as he likes this kid? That shit is terrifying. Dean shifts his shoulders. The room’s hot and the temperature is about to rise. Get it over with, Dean. Don’t overdo it._

_Dean pulls back his arm and lets the leather fly._

 

Sam eyes pop a little. Why didn’t that hurt more? The next blow is another slap. He stiffens but opens his eyes to look around the room in surprise. He remembers his master’s hand being much… SLAP…heavier. SLAP. He shifts again. Dean’s hand is keeping him steady, he can’t pull back much, he’s trying to keep still, to be good. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.

Sam’s lifting his hips from side to side the burn is building but it’s…not bad. Not comfortable. The heat is rising…SLAP… Confusing and in one spot over and over. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP…okay owe. Sam’s breath start’s to catch.

“Alright. Four more. Then we’re done. I’ll forgive you and we can move on. You can even have some of that ice cream, okay?”

Sam nods his head in compliance.

Dean finishes with four CRACK…CRACK…CRACK…CRACK… Sam’s tearing up and then he lets out a sob. His ass hot and feeling a dull ache. Not as bad as before but more shameful. Why can't he control this shit? 

“Alright. Okay. Come, here.” Dean’s on the bed with his arms stretched out, his hands opening and closing. Sam sniffs and wraps long desperate arms around his master. He cries more because his master spared him. He cries more because this is the closest he’s been to anyone in so long. Closer than _Massage for You_. Closer. Dean’s rubbing his back, whispering, “It’s alright, it’s over. We’ll get there, buddy. It’s alright…” Sam’s huddled into Dean with his head down, his cheek rubbing lightly against the fabric of the t-shirt Dean’s got on.

It’s kind, sweet and Sam raises his chin from Dean’s chest and places his lips on Dean’s gently. Sweetly. The action electric and dizzying until Dean pushes a hand to his chest and he stumbles off his master’s lap, eyes laden with guilt.

Dean brushes him off. Acts like what happened did not just fucking happened. The older man scrambles his feet, unsteady and wobbly. But he recovers and cowers his head, taking a few fast steps to the door.

“Gonna go get you that ice cream. We eat in the kitchen so get yourself together and come down stairs. We’ll talk about tomorrow, watch some lame TV with Bobby and we'll hit the hay.”

No discussion there. Sam nods shaken, watching Dean duck out of the room .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short. But up :)


	9. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been a long ass time. Just tons of life happening all at once. Hope all of you are well and please, enjoy.

  
  
  
  
  
Dean putters downstairs, waiting for Sam. He feels twitchy and he’s been touching his lips a little spellbound, they still tingle. Dean shakes himself. He’s not that kind of man. Damn it, he’s not. Not one to take advantage of the situation and the situation they have now? There is some serious moral ambiguity. Christ, Caleb handed Dean the kid’s papers. Sam’s ass was literally his. Tapping that would be levels of wrong Dean could not even conceive of. Under no circumstance would he turn that broken boy into a sex slave. Not even a footnote in his playbook. Slaves were off limits. Period.

Not that Dean _has not been_ one to take advantage of a situation. Really, okay… technically? He might be. He thought back to the pile of phone numbers he'd thrown away. He’d roll into town to find someone looking for a good time. The vague memories of going back to someone’s place or the texts to Dad that he needed the motel room. They never talked about it. Some nights Dad didn’t come home either.

Dean sniffed a little, pulling back the urge for tears. _Be a man, Winchester._ A bitter pill rolling around in his mouth. In reality, nothing he ever had was as real as what had just happened. It just meant more than the pretty faces. Sadness crept in as thoughts of all charming smiles he gave and the " _of course, I'll call."_ The cost seemed worth it. There were those sweet moments: holding someone too tight with too much tenderness. The subtle ache that comes with that desperate need for affection, intimacy and acceptance.

Yeah, _“Human touch, everyone needs it.”_ Caleb had it right.

Must be that it had been too long. Mainly because Bobby rarely strays outside the state. Besides, Bobby doesn’t understand. He still misses his wife, misses her like he would miss oxygen. Apart from a few rolls in the hay with Ellen Harvelle and a couple other hunters, he was mostly celibate. His heart just shut down after that casket closed. 

Dean couldn’t escape the talks or the disapproval. “Son, you need to settle down. At least try to use that damn heart for something other than screwing around. It’s hurtin' you more than it’s hurtin' them." Then there was, "You can stay here forever, boy, but that won’t stop you from being a miserable son of a bitch.”

Yeah, that stung, like a sucker punch to the gut. Goddamnit, did he need a drink. He needed to get laid, to hustle some arrogant asshole, to get in a fight, or beat the tar out of some evil waste of blood and skin.  _Something_.

But Jesus. That kiss. As Dean puts a finger to his lips, the ice cream drops to the floor. Karen’s Corelle bowl with tiny blue flowers bouncing like a bouncy ball on the ancient linoleum, vanilla ice cream all but jumping out of the bowl onto the floor. Damn it. Where is the mop?

 

 _Sam stays in that room longer than necessary. The room is colder without Dean. The air still and stale. He starts his staring again. Vacant and lost. Exhausted and_ d _efeated. Staring deep into the thick wooden door, waiting for answers. Answers that are obviously not going to come. What the hell had he done?_

_It always came down to that, didn’t it? What did he do this time? His little life always presented an opportunity to royally screw up. He wiped a few more tears from eyes he was sure had fully drained. The deep sinking feeling pulled him down, slumping his shoulders._

_Shame. It yanked, attaching weights that pushed so heavy on his chest he did not know if he was actually breathing anymore. A monster. Could there really be any other way to describe it? Monster. A beast to be caged. A slave to his captors. A burden to his masters._

_He blinks, shifting a little, thinking about the slight ache. Nothing like any punishment he can ever remember receiving. It’s warm and stings just enough to be shameful. And jeez, he’s sitting down for Christ’s sake… without tears._

_Sam’s head shakes at the thought: goddamn it! Why does he have to fuck everything up? Must be all that demon blood coursing through his veins. He just can’t help it. The teeth. The eyes. The kiss. Probably not the first time a slave fell for his master. Probably. Just one more thing he’s bad at. But that face. Those eyes. Dean falls a little short of breathtaking and knows it. No way that kind of guy would fall for him._

_Not like he hasn’t had some kind of relationships. Kind of easy to find someone as lonely as he was on the internet. He would always drop them when they got too close. When they asked too many questions, wanted to get coffee, to know his address. Caleb would find out eventually. Always did. Jeez, that was embarrassing and always earned him a proper licking. Caleb did not want some freak showing up at the house. Okay, that sort of made sense._

_He had physical relationships. Candy and Bruce didn’t really know much English. Their speech was broken but they were always kind. Always took note of what he liked and didn’t. But Sam knew the rules. No touching. Not that he could if he wanted to. Never without the restraints. Caleb told them he was dangerous. Very dangerous. Don’t get too close to his mouth, muzzle him if you have to._  
  
Sam made his way timidly down the stairs, watching his footsteps, stepping lightly, watching his steps like he might take a tumble. He took a seat and stared into that red linoleum table. The swirls  _undulating and twisting, he could lose himself briefly, trying desperately not to watch his master._  
 

Dean hands the kid a bowl, watching him from behind as he eats it. Awkwardly. The slave’s hands are still unfamiliar with the spoon as he misses his lips a few times. He’s getting better. Better than with the chili. Dean smiles a little. That kid’s a fighter. You can just tell by looking at him. Boy just doesn’t give up, and damned if he didn’t have good reason to. Seriously, Dean loves Caleb. Loves Caleb like he loves Bobby. But treating that kid like a human-sized dog was just plain wrong.

Dean rests his back on the counter, arms catching his weight as he watches. Lost in thought. That conversation Dean had earlier playing over and over in his head…

 

The sun came up gently over the horizon. Dean’s got his thumbs in his belt loops as Bobby barks back at him.

 _“I know you did, boy! And damn straight. I got enough of it as a kid. But I sure as shit would kick your ass!”_  

Dean was outside kicking dirt, the warm rays of the morning sun casting long shadows before him. The wind whistled as it blew through the broken windows of the cars in the lot. The morning calm and serene, beautiful and still, but Dean doesn't notice. He's cursing to himself. Cursing his father for never even mentioning this kid. Dad had to die for him to figure this shit out. For all Dean knows after Caleb was done with the kid, his father probably would have just pawned Sam off to the next hunter with a cage and a whip.

Not that the kid in his charge wasn’t dangerous. Dangerous enough to warrant a shock collar. Over-powered beyond anything Dean had ever heard of outside of Crowley himself, AND! A direct descendant of Azazel. Given just that information? Dean should have been on the hunt for this kid years ago. Dean would have lopped off the demon’s head and buried the body in ten different directions. And maybe that was the damn point. Still burned his ass that no one told him. That Caleb failed to mention vital fucking information.  
  
Answers. He was going to get some fucking answers.

 

Dean pulled out his ancient flip phone, pressing the numbers too quickly, almost pounding the wrong number. He fumed as he listened to the ring with bated breath, ready to tear into his old friend.   
  
“Caleb. Got a problem with your boy here. What fuck is he talking about? _Azazel_? You didn’t think that was necessary information, considering my family history?” Dean tried to ask cordially but felt his temper and his blood pressure rising.

“ _Well, good to hear from you too, Dean,”_ Caleb chided back in the same tone Caleb used with John when he would drop Dean off for weeks at a time. “I got no idea what you are talking about… Oh! Azazel? Dean, your Daddy didn’t tell you? It was his favorite story! My God. The grand story ‘bout how he capped Azazel? Aw, man, I _loved_ that story. After a few beers, John’d go on about how distracted Azazel was with that boy. The bastard just could not take his yellow eyes off him. John saw the pride in that sick bastard’s eyes when he forced that kid to ice his own rabbit… forced him to snap the neck of that cute little bunny just like Azazel snapped his mom's neck. Dean, I’d think you’d have more sympathy for him. Lost his mom right in front of his eyes, just like you. All of that, right after his daddy sold him off to slavery. Just…brutal, Dean…Brutal.” Dean could not even hear Sam's disturbing history. He heard Dad? Had lied. Blatantly. For years.

“Oh. What. The. Fuck. That bastard never mentioned a kid. Never. _Of course, he told me how he capped Azazel!_ " Dean hissed out the next words, like reciting a folktale, but with much more spite. "Out in the middle of the woods. Just about twilight. He inched closer to the cabin locked so deep in the woods it could have been the gingerbread house in Hansel and Gretel. He told me he found the place because the wind blew in just the right direction. A small fire burned in the chimney. A slight blaze. Not enough to cause a smokestack but enough to give a faint whiff of burnt wood. Dad had been searching the woods for hours. He caught whispers that the yellow-eyed demon was holed up in the Catskills. Just on the leeward side of Mount Black Dome. Of course, I heard the damn story. A hundred damn times. Just not the part about the _demonic slave_.”

“Dean. Sammy's not so bad, is he? I mean you see that, right? He’s easy to keep under thumb. Mostly… He can be sweet, toubled but sweet. He and I’d chat back and forth on the computer if he had a good day. One day he opened up about it. Poor kid… Anyway, after your Daddy sent that demon son of a bitch to oblivion, John found that kid holed up in that cage I brought you. Azazel was keeping the kid like some kind of pet or animal he was training. Your dad liked the kid but couldn’t see a way to keep him. Not like you two stayed in one place for more than a few weeks at a time…” Caleb said, his voice trailing off. Caleb never approved of how John treated Dean. Dean felt that little stab at his childhood.

“Always working a job…," Dean said wearily, now throwing rocks. "Yeah, we moved around a lot... What the fuck was Azazel training him to do?” Dean asked cautiously, his eyes dropping to the ground, kicking at the dirt with his feet, not wanting to hear the answer.

“He was training him to be a weapon, Dean. That kid had to kill animals, move shit, torture demons, honestly, I don’t know how the poor kid’s still sane after all of it. _Or really if he is, Dean._ ” Caleb said the last few words with so much purpose it sent chills up and down Dean’s back. _Shit._

Dean paused for too long, his stomach turning tricks. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pulling from the whiskey bottle again. None of that was good. Jesus. Who did he have in Bobby’s house? Who did he just leave in Bobby’s house while he made this damn call? He stumbled through his speech.

“He ever… you know… did he get violent? Torture you with anything? Move shit?” Dean waited while Caleb paused a moment, considering.

“Nah… There was that one time. I mean, wasn’t really his fault or anything. Sammy brought in a stray cat from the backyard. That was a damn disaster!” Caleb laughed happily. “Man, Sammy loved that ratty old tabby. I still remember it. Long dirty hair, mats everywhere. Kid cleaned him up, fed him, always rubbing his face all over that scruffy cat. I never saw the damn thing out of his lap. He was so gentle with the beast until one day I was watching Sam playing with the mongrel with a piece of string. The thing got too excited and bit Sammy’s hand. Blood spilled and he put his hand in his mouth. Then the teeth and the eyes came out and you have never seen an animal more freaked out! That thing hissed and spit, taking off hysterical. The damn thing tore through the house, knocking all kinds of shit over. I lost two lamps and a potted plant. Couldn’t get it to calm down or even come out from under the couch. Finally had to throw a sheet over it to get rid of him. Broke Sammy up, though. He tried so hard.”

“Yeah. I see it. He’s a great kid. Just you know? A little unsocialized...” Dean said, saddened. 

“That’s one way to put it, Dean. Sammy? He’s still a fucking demon. I told you already. Son of a bitch is dangerous. Loveable. But dangerous.” Dean bristled at the language.

“Caleb. You got him when he was what? Nineteen? He’s just a kid.”

“Awe! You're getting attached! Ah, Dean! Don’t get attached. He’s a damn monster. Train him to do your laundry, but don’t get attached! I mean I think he has a soul, but it's hard to tell. Dean, like I said, just keep him locked down and you shouldn’t have too many problems.”

“He might be a damn monster, but he’s a damn monster who’s is literate and sentient. Jesus. Caleb,” Dean snapped back.

“I know, I know," Caleb said calmly, trying to break the tension so he'd be heard. "I mean I’da ganked him if he was evil, Dean… Dean, what we do is protect people from things like Sam. You know what would happen if that ‘boy’ fell into the wrong hands. I mean take a few minutes and let it sink in Dean. ‘Sammy, I’ll spank you if you don’t bite these nuns over here.’ He’s a supernatural assault rifle. Keep him locked up, Dean. And keep that collar on. You keep his safety on, Dean…”

Dean rubbed his brow, tired, half-drunk and it’s not even noon. He blew out some air.

“What the fuck kind of spell is it Caleb? You ever find anything out?”

“I don’t know, Dean. Sure, I asked around about the spell that took his voice but damn it. I was glad the other one worked. That kind of power? I mean a Demon is powerful and terrible. I never got out dealing with one without three or more scars. But this kid? Could tear you to pieces. He’s monster and demon all rolled into one. Scary shit. And holy fuck! Are you going soft? You break that spell and your ass is mine, son! I swear to God! I will come take the son of a bitch back if you try to free him!”

“Nah. I mean maybe. Caleb, he’s a good kid.”

“You stop with the beatings and then you talk to me. I have tried it all, Dean. What the hell did you think we did? Did you think we made daisy chains for Satan all day? Did you think we played fetch?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I think you treated that kid like an animal, Caleb and I can’t for the life of me figure out why!” Dean blurted out, more pissed that he thought he was. Dean heard Caleb sigh deeply in the phone.

“Dean. I tried man. I did. I got to know him. But Sammy’s such a kid. He still acts like a thirteen-year-old. Eager to please until you piss him off. Then I tell you, he finds ways to fuck you.”

“Dude. Whatever. I think I am just going to have to learn all this on my own. What can you tell me about the spell? Why does it work? How does it work? Has he ever hurt you?”

“The spell? Demonic. Something Azazel concocted to make training easier. You know, do what I say or else? No need to get creative with it. If he doesn’t obey immediately, gives him a good dose of pain. I have seen him try and fight it. It’s not pretty. But yeah, you got me there. No. He never hurt me. If he doesn’t obey immediately that spell is like nails on a chalkboard for him, if the nails were needles driven into his skull. Don’t use it until he’s ready to listen. Just gives him a shot of pain if he has to think about it. Give a command. Normally he just obeys. Doesn’t like doing the dishes… but for most things, he just follows orders. It’s what happens when you leave him alone that’s shit goes down.

“Jesus. You ever had someone put Kool-Aid in your showerhead? I have a respectable job, Dean. Full of women, who teased me mercilessly for years! Didn’t even know my hair and face were Kool-Aid Man red. I mean I wanted to look the other way. But that crazy son of a bitch told the Jehovah’s Witnesses I needed some Jesus in my life. Nicest little old lady still calls _weekly_ and harps on me more than my own grandmother about how often I go to church! Patience of a saint… because she might be one… the bitch _..._ Dean. It goes on and on. To this day, I can’t find my keys? I check the toilet tank…”

“Oh! Oh my god, man! That is hilarious! That kid's one naughty SOB. He’s pissed in my shampoo and did the whole warm water in the bowl trick… I whipped him good. Dad'd be proud. I _do not_ put up with that shit.” Dean said confidently.

Dean just heard Caleb laugh. Snickering, more like it.

“Yeah, you think you’re safe. You think one beating put an end to that? You better watch him….” Dean could hear Caleb smiling through his words. Damn it.

“Caleb, the way we live… I don’t really do the whole 9 to 5. I need him ready. You know I can’t lock down Bobby’s place. You know all the hidden weapons, hoodoo, voodoo, demonic, angelic firepower Bobby’s got. And that’s just in the false bottom of the knife drawer… Seriously the house is armed to the teeth and with Bobby being a paranoid bastard, I probably don't even know the half of it. And, I have time to civilize him, Caleb.”

“I wish you luck. Look. I am sorry I didn’t try harder. He just became a roommate who loved to fuck with me. I just tried to curb it with the strap. You be careful, Dean. If you fail? I don’t think I could take him down, especially if someone else is pulling the strings. He’s that fucking powerful. AZAZEL. Azazel trained the kid. Telekinesis, razor-sharp teeth and he’s huge. A regular demons act on their own will. This one obeys orders. Remember _that._ ”

 

The young man in his kitchen draws Dean back in, hurling him straight to the present. Sammy's scrapping the last of the ice cream from the bottom of the bowl, looking like he'd love to just lick it. Dean presses a smile. The kid's innocent in so many ways and locked in deep darkness in so many others. _What the hell was he going to do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnote: Becks - I deleted your comment. Not because it offended me. I was attempting to respond and got too spastic with the mouse.


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